


take my picture now (shake it 'til you see it)

by civillove



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, photographer/model au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22510726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: Summary: model/photographer AU. Blaine likes to call this part of his life as being 'the flavor of the month'. While he enjoys being a successful model, he feels like the industry keeps taking little pieces of him. When he meets Sebastian, a nature photographer, he feels like he might get those pieces back.--It’s a Wednesday and Blaine’s having one of those out of body experiences where he’s looking at himself in the mirror and a pair of hazel eyes that he doesn’t recognize stare back at him. He’s not sure whether everyone in the industry has moments like this or if he’s just feeling particularly nostalgic while he waits for hair and makeup to touch him up before a shoot.This isn’t how he pictured where he’d end up.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe
Comments: 39
Kudos: 128
Collections: Blaine Big Bang 2020





	take my picture now (shake it 'til you see it)

**Author's Note:**

> wow, I can nOT believe we're here. I feel like I wrote this so long ago and I'm so excited to finally be able to share it with the world! Some additional notes:  
> 1) thank you so much to my beta, Lauren, and my artist, Moni, they also worked so hard with me to get this fic to where it is!  
> 2) the title is taken directly from one of my favorite panic! at the disco songs 'house of memories'  
> 3) warnings include: past self-harm, body image issues  
> 4) thanks so much and enjoy! :)

**Author** : civillove

 **Beta** : medievalraven

 **Artist** : kanversrph

 **Word Count** : 33,360

 **Written for** : [Blaine Big Bang 2020](https://blainebigbang.tumblr.com/)

\--

It’s a Wednesday and Blaine’s having one of those out of body experiences where he’s looking at himself in the mirror and a pair of hazel eyes that he doesn’t recognize stare back at him. He’s not sure whether everyone in the industry has moments like this or if he’s just feeling particularly nostalgic while he waits for hair and makeup to touch him up before a shoot.

This isn’t how he pictured where he’d end up.

When he closes his eyes, he can still picture Lima, Ohio, in all its dusty colored sameness—like some sort of untouched wax museum town. He remembers posters of New York on his bedroom walls and holding Kurt’s hands as they talked about their shared plans on his pale blue bedspread. But while it felt guaranteed and certain then, his future didn’t end up mapping out as a love story.

They managed to move to New York together but went separate ways. Kurt had his reasons…which all felt very valid at the time. But if Blaine would have allowed himself to take a moment, to _look,_ he would have realized their relationship had shattered a long time ago and he was holding it too tightly within his grip.

It’s like dropping a coffee mug and picking up the pieces but instead of throwing it away, it’s kept in a drawer close by and forgotten. Which is fine until you reach into the drawer one too many times and cause deep cuts that never heal properly.

Time apart helped; it forced Blaine to realize that he needed to focus on himself rather than what others needed for a change. He dove into work; into auditions, classes, local theater groups, stagehand work, part time jobs, more classes, more auditions, small time performances, auditions, auditions and auditions.

But nothing fit, nothing felt worth it.

He wanted something big, worthwhile, a Broadway show that got him _out there_ on a billboard in Times Square but no one would give him the chance. It’s not until his sixth audition and about his hundredth ‘no’ that something happened that he didn’t expect—some guy in the audience gave him a business card.

_Blaine squints at the business card that’s been placed into his palm, smoothing over the black lettering at the top with his thumb: STAN CHAMBERLIN MODELING AGENCY._

_“Uh…I’m not interested in modeling.”_

_The guy, Stan, sticks his hands into his gray suit pockets and offers a soft laugh. He’s handsome, a little taller than Blaine and has sandy blonde hair swept into a coif on the left side of his head. He doesn’t fit in the atmosphere of this theater, like he’s stumbled into this on accident and decided to stick around to watch auditions._

_“You should be, I couldn’t take my eyes off you up there.”_

_And while Blaine’s always been flustered when it’s come to flattery, he’s not willing to give himself over to the idea of this conversation just yet._

_He picks up his satchel and puts it over his shoulder, tearing the paper number off his chest from his time on stage. “You usually scout at auditions for models?” He pockets the card and runs a hand through his hair, passing Stan on his way up the aisles to head out._

_“No,” Stan follows, keeping in step. “I’m a friend of one of the judges, Sally in the center with the bad attitude.”_

_Blaine feels a chuckle slip between his lips, glancing over at him. “That’s unfortunate.”_

_“She was born with that scowl; I can assure you.”_

_He pauses after leaving the theater, the doors closing behind them with a soft swooshing noise. And while he wants to leave, something grounds him into place. The happenstance of their meeting feeling too much like serendipity singing in Blaine’s bloodstream. He’s gotta stop the dosage of Lifetime movies during TV dinners._

_“Think you could change her mind for me? Get her to sway me into this musical?” Blaine asks, because why not? He has nothing else to lose other than a bit of dignity._

_Stan glances at the pocket where his business card is and suddenly it feels like it’s heating a hole through the fabric before his eyes meet Blaine’s again. “I can do you one better. Take me up on my offer.”_

_A model. Him? Really? He opens his mouth and then shuts it quickly, unsure of where to go with this. Cooper’s modeled before, done commercials, some B-side movies, the whole shebang and it’s never taken him anywhere. While he’s never exactly_ said _he’s miserable and regretful, sometimes Blaine can see it in his eyes when he talks at family gatherings. What if this ends up being a giant waste of his time, or worse, it’s some sort of scam?_

_He chews on his lower lip; teetering._

_“Look, I get it’s a little weird; me approaching you like this. My Instagram portfolio is on the business card, you can take a look, Google me, Facebook stalk me—whatever you need to do before you decide.”_

_He smiles, glancing at the theater doors. “The judges were watching you act but I was watching your body language; how you hold yourself, project, the uncontrolled expressions on your face—you’re magnetic.”_

_Blaine feels heat curl into his stomach like the kiss of a flame, blush tinting from his cheeks down the back of his neck. Even after all his time with Kurt, someone he’s loved more than anyone, he’s never felt quite like this: wanted._

_“It’d be a shame if no one captured that, so, let me know if you change your mind.”_

It took a lot of time, research and some convincing from Cooper to warm up to the idea, to change his mind…but he did.

It starts off slow, things here and there, bouncing to few random shoots in New York, Los Angeles and Chicago that Stan sets up with different photographers with an assortment of clothes and ideas. Blaine admits he had zero expectations; he assumed it’d be something quick, one magazine spread he could text his parents and tease Cooper about at Thanksgivings. He’s pretty sure Stan didn’t think it’d go very far either; Blaine Anderson nothing more than a fresh face that would eventually disappear in-between glossy pages of U.S. Weekly.

And then something exploded like a powder keg.

Blaine was nowhere and then suddenly he was everywhere.

He’s on magazines in the check-out aisles at grocery stores—Men’s Health, Vogue, Esquire, GQ and People. He’s been plastered on the side of buildings in SoHo wearing open buttoned-down shirts and Calvin Klein underwear. He was on a cereal box once, which was weird—he remembers picking up Chex and placing them in front of the Cheerio boxes that had his face smiling with too much teeth. He’s been on the sides of buses, a billboard, on people’s offices and bedroom walls. His mom took a picture of him on a Coca-Cola can and sent it to him with too many smiley emojis and he just hopes she actually threw the thing away instead of starting some weird shrine in his childhood living room.

Even after this whirlwind of short-time success, Blaine still finds it hard to believe that this is where his future has taken him. To Paris for a L’Officiel photoshoot, sitting in a warehouse at a popup vanity with almost too-bright bulbs, staring at his hazel eyes in the mirror.

It’s not that he doesn’t love it or isn’t trying to embrace it, it’s just that sometimes it still surprises him.

Blaine tries not to jump when he feels a hand come down on his shoulder, Stan smiling at him from behind through the mirror. Suddenly makeup and hair artists are fluttering near him too, it must nearly be time for him to get in front of the camera.

“The photographer wants a softer look for the black and whites so you won’t have to gel your hair down.”

He grins as a woman tilts his chin towards her to use a blot stick to cover up some blemishes he doesn’t even see near his mouth, “Good, I hate accidently running my hand through the sticky disaster and feel like I’ve been clutching a cinnamon bun for the better part of an hour.”

Stan chuckles, “Least there’s no makeup this time either.”

“I’m actually quite fond of the lipstick shoots.” Blaine admits with a shrug, thinking about how reds usually bring out soft and attractive tints of his skin. “What kind of clothes am I wearing?”

One of the hair artists tugs a stubborn curl at the nape of his neck and Blaine winces, an apology in French leaving her lips with a sheepish smile. Stan moves to lean against the vanity and it’s probably not sturdy enough for that but he doesn’t seem to care as he puts his weight on the counter while crossing his arms over his chest.

“Didn’t you read the email brief?”

Blaine smiles a little guilty, “I _meant_ to but there was a _Game of Thrones_ marathon on and it’s really hard for me to resist Jon Snow.”

Stan clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth but he doesn’t seem like he’s about to lecture, so, he considers it a win. “It’s business casual; suit separates, tweed, overcoats, giant sweaters—basically all the shit you enjoy but stuff you won’t wear when paps snap pics of you.”

He stands up from the chair when the makeup and hair artists are finished, playing with a curl on his forehead and getting it to settle more naturally before scrunching his nose at Stan.

“Doing this all the time means I get to wear comfortable off-brand clothes when I’m just being myself. No one cares what I’m wearing when I go to pick up milk.”

Stan smacks his hand gently to get him to stop fussing. “That’s where you’re wrong, people care all the time,” He says pointedly, “And those unforgiving gray blob joggers that you love so much will haunt you. Trust me.”

Blaine rolls his eyes as he turns to walk to wardrobe—he knows Stan doesn’t mean any harm in saying that and he tries not to let himself worry about all the superficial drama even though it’s hard. He’s not sure how he feels about that idea, about eyes _on_ him all the time. His minimal exposure has gotten him invited to a few red-carpet events, movie premieres, fancy parties but it’s not like he’s a major celebrity. And yet he gets recognized on the street when he’s home in New York; the paparazzi still want to know what he’s doing, who he’s dating and who he’s wearing.

Cooper says it’ll settle down eventually; that he’s what his brother likes to coin as: flavor of the month. He’ll fizzle out, that it’s only a matter of time before a new fresh face will cover magazine spreads, sides of buildings, buses and office or bedroom walls.

So he enjoys as much as he can, makes as many contacts as possible and soaks it all up as experience and networking…even when stupid comments about his gray joggers manage to bother him.

\--

Wardrobe puts him in a pair of mustard colored slacks and a soft navy-blue button-down shirt that kisses his skin. It’s form fitting, comfortable and definitely not the worst thing he’s been stuck in for hours for photoshoots. He has a few outfits that he has to switch into; a pair of tweed checkered slacks paired with a maroon sweater, and a black and white polka-dot short sleeved cardigan with evergreen shorts…he’s a little unsure about that one. He’s definitely not one for saying ‘no’ to clothing adventures but even that combination sounds a little odd to him.

Stan told him that this photoshoot was supposed to be black and white but with the range of color in his outfits, he wonders if the photographer is also going to shoot in color and see what turns out best.

The set he’s being posed into is industrial; the warehouse itself serving as a backdrop of rusted orange metal with hints of cappuccino brown. They’ve set down patterned rugs and a Victorian beige couch near a grainy window with what looks like coke-bottle circles in the glass. This is his canvas; this is where he blends in and stands out all at once.

Blaine takes a deep breath and steps into the scene.

_“You’re going to what now?”_

_Blaine chews on the bottom of his lower lip as he turns to look over his shoulder at his two best friends—Jake Puckerman and Sam Evans. Jake lived in the same apartment complex as him, just a floor down to the right, while he met Sam in a café he worked in around the corner. He’s only known them for a few years but it feels like longer in the way that souls recognize one another across time. They scheme and talk and laugh like they’ve been friends since childhood…and if anyone can support him with this crazy idea that he’s going with, it’s these two._

_“I’m going to try out this whole modeling thing.”_

_Jake glances at Sam and Blaine can_ see _the look on his face, a kind of pinched confusion as his eyebrows draw together when he says, “You mean with that Stan guy? The one that gave you the business card?”_

_“I don’t trust this, man,” Sam says suddenly, straightening his posture. “What if he tries to harvest your organs?”_

_Blaine sits down on the edge of his bed, opening and closing his mouth a moment because_ what? _Sam shrugs his one shoulder, his cheeks kissing pink just slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest and mumbles ‘What? It happens’ underneath his breath._

_“I think what Sam is trying to say is: Are you sure this guy’s legit?” Jake asks._

_“I had Cooper vet him for me, he knows a few people from when he did some photoshoots and his commercials. Stan’s the real deal.” He pauses, running a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s just…auditions have kinda been sucking for me lately.”_

_“Lately?” Sam clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth. “Dude you’ve been striking out for the past six months.”_

_Jake steps on his foot, hard, and Sam shoves his shoulder before he moves away making Blaine roll his eyes. “Right, well, this is my point. I need to try, see where this goes—and if it doesn’t go anywhere then fine but…”_

_“You won’t know until you try.” Jake fills in, licking his lips. “Yeah man, we get it.”_

_Blaine stands up from his bed, glancing at his dresser that’s holding mementos from his past: his grandfather’s bowtie, a few trophies from vocal competitions in high school, a picture with him and his parents, a polaroid of him and Cooper._

_“I just want to feel like I’m good at something again.” He mumbles, almost not loud enough to hear, mostly to himself._

_This whole thing is a crapshoot, nothing is guaranteed, but he knows that if he doesn’t see where this opportunity goes, he’ll feel like a failure for not trying. Worst scenario is that it all flops and he ends up back where he started, going to more auditions._

_But…best case scenario?_

_“Dude if you make it into a magazine, I’m posting a selfie with your face on Instagram.”_

_Blaine feels the corners of his lips tug into a smile as he turns to look at his friends, Sam grinning at the sudden idea._

_Jake shrugs his one shoulder, a spark of mischief in his eyes, “I’m taping up your magazine photos in public restrooms all over New York.”_

_He throws a crumpled-up t-shirt at them both._

_\--_

“Bouge toi.” The photographer snaps, _move,_ and Blaine blinks a moment because he’s caught off guard as he lounges on the Victorian couch. “Déplacer vers la droite.” It’s quick and insistent and he realizes that oh, he wants him to move to the right and sounds frustrated that he has to ask in the first place.

Blaine’s learned not to question the photographer or offer suggested poses on his own. Most of the time it isn’t a big deal, some photographers welcome the feedback and open movement, the ability to snap candids where he can feel more relaxed. But there are a select, quite _venomous,_ few that don’t appreciate his two-cents—they know what the magazine wants, has planned it out in various outfits paired with themed poses and snap the lens as quickly as possible.

It sometimes makes him feel like he’s on an assembly line.

“Oui.” The photographer draws him out of his thoughts and snaps his fingers at his assignment, changing a camera lens before motioning for Blaine to stand.

He wanders over to the window and glances outside at the dreary city below, overcast with what looks like looming snow clouds. It makes him miss his apartment back in New York—a sudden homesickness to be curled up against his window cozy in an oversized sweater with a cup of coffee.

Blaine lets out a long sigh before turning to face the camera, leaning against the window; he sticks his hands in his pockets for what he hopes looks like a relaxed pose. The photographer squints at him a moment, turning his lens to focus before he pulls the camera away from his face.

“No,” He waves his arm, gestures at Blaine for him to do something and he…slowly pulls his hands out of his pockets because he’s unsure, “Lève ta jambe.”

He tries to quickly piece together what the photographer is asking him, the few French phrases that he does know not helping in the slightest with this direction. He wants to ask Stan, because most of the time his manager can decipher or at least find someone who can but when Blaine glances at him he’s on the phone a few feet away.

Blaine shakes his head, a wave of embarrassment rolling down from his shoulders as he shrugs his one shoulder, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”

“Ta _jambe.”_ The photographer emphasizes with a small huff, as if that’ll somehow help. He motions to his leg—his leg? Move his leg…okay, but…

The man pinches the bridge of his nose before he hands his camera to his assistant and quickly walks towards Blaine. He’s unfortunately used to people getting into his personal space, so when the photographer bends down and grips his shin to bend his knee he doesn’t flinch.

He does however wince at the awkward angle he’s suddenly put into because he wasn’t prepared to be moved. Blaine adjust his body, which helps, and leans further against the window with his one knee bent and his hands in his pockets again. Correction— _one_ hand in his pocket because his right one is taken out to hang loosely by his side.

The photographer tips his chin, tilting it to the right. “Génial.” _Awesome._ “Rester.” _Stay._

Blaine swallows and bites down, hard, on the inside of his cheek at being told to hold a position like a dog. Stan gets off the phone a few moments later as the photographer grabs his camera again, resets himself by taking a deep breath, and begins snapping photos.

His manger grins at him, clapping once, “Beautiful, B!” and despite hearing that often at shoots a small smile tugs at his mouth.

Within the next few hours, other outfits and poses are cycled through and Blaine finally returns to the comfy jeans, sweater and overcoat he showed up in. He manages to brush through his curls to release the gentle hold of hair spray and wipes the makeup off his face, looking forward to spending the rest of the night on his own.

He slips his cell phone out of his pocket and shoots a text to Jake: _Miss you guys. You’re feeding my cat, right?_

Blaine starts walking towards the exit, seeing Stan and the photographer talking near a laptop; most likely going over some of the photos just taken. He lets out a soft sigh out of his nose—he usually doesn’t look at finished work, for some reason those photos never feel like _him._ It’s almost like he has an out of body experience seeing his photographs or catching his face on the cover of a magazine, someone else staring back at him.

His phone blips with a message to which Jake responds: _You have a cat?_

A beat, and then: _:) just kidding. She’s good, man. I can take care of a cat. She misses you though. I do too._

A picture comes through; a ridiculous selfie that cuts the top of Jake’s head off and his cat’s beady eyes and pink nose. It makes Blaine smile though, which he appreciates.

“I’m heading out Stan, off for a week, right?” He asks, pausing as he sticks his phone back into his pocket. He looks over the photographer’s shoulder, just for a moment, and instantly regrets it.

“I might be pulling you into one more shoot before you leave France,” Stan’s telling him, completing an email on his phone before looking at the laptop screen. “I wouldn’t regularly do two shoots in one trip but this guy is good and he doesn’t usually photograph people. I mean, he’s got like National Geographic shit, you know?”

Blaine swallows, the tail end of his conversation starting to sound like running water rushing past his eardrums. It’s like cotton being forcibly shoved into his ear canal and his throat, making it hard to swallow.

“But I sent an inquiry email anyways, just to see and the moment he saw your name he was in.”

A swirling noise like a deafening wave crashes down onto his shoulders and he takes a step towards the laptop because…the photographer is airbrushing his thighs. His thighs, the slight swell of his stomach and—and suddenly it feels like he can’t _breathe_ because he’s been doing so well lately.

He’s been eating right, cutting out the alcohol, working out when he gets the chance and—and the skin on the inside of his forearms suddenly feels like it’s burning, melting on the spot, bubbling underneath in his bloodstream. His fingers itch to scratch, to dig, to—

“Blaine.”

He snaps his attention towards Stan and he hopes he doesn’t look as disheveled as he feels because his manger is giving him that _look—_ they’ve had this talk before. Part of him wants to brush the conversation aside but he knows it’s better to get it over with.

“I know,” He says quickly, “I’m fine.” Which doesn’t sound convincing at all.

Blaine never used to think about that stuff when his photo was being taken…but now it’s spread out for everyone to look at, to see, to _judge_. While he’s always been very confident in his abilities, there always seems to be tiniest voice in the back of his mind that he can’t get rid of that highlight his insecurities.

“It’s not a big deal, alright? Doesn’t make you any less gorgeous.” Stan says gently and while Blaine wants to believe him—how can he really _say_ that and mean it when airbrushing and correcting and photoshopping feels like a slap across his face?

He hates the tiny voice in the back of his mind, he hates the doubts and he hates that it makes his skin crawl; scars from scratches still on the soft inside of his forearms that are always there to remind him.

He digs his fingernails into the palms of his hand, hard enough to bleed, so he doesn’t scratch.

Stan bumps his shoulder into his own, tearing his gaze away from the laptop—he needs to stop looking at the photographer editing his photos anyways. “Happens all the time, yeah? Photos are made to be touched up, nothing’s perfect in real life.”

Blaine decides right then and there that he’s going to walk instead of getting a car back to the hotel—calisthenics will work out his jumbled nerve endings and the fresh air will do him good. He nods his head at his manager and takes a step back towards the exit.

“Yeah,” He offers a small smile, “Text me about tomorrow okay?”

Besides, compared to state side, he won’t get spotted as easily out on the street like he tends to be New York. The almost promise of anonymity is too enticing for him to pass up so he buries his hands deep into his overcoat and turns to push the door of the warehouse open with his shoulder.

He breathes in _deep_ when the damp, cool air of November presses insistently against his face and he nearly feels like himself again.

Almost.

\--

Blaine walks until his toes start to feel a little numb in the tips of his boots, big fat snowflakes falling down like feathers from the sky around him. He debates calling Cooper a few times to talk about the whole airbrushing thing but then decides against it, feeling a little foolish. He goes through these motions every so often and usually decides to bury the conversation where it lays. Stan’s right, it happens with a lot of other models in the industry and he shouldn’t let it bother him.

He chews on the bottom of his lower lip as he pauses outside of a bar, he’s been passing most of them up on his way back to the hotel. But…he feels frozen, there’s the sound of a piano playing as someone opens the door to leave and he can see a glimpse of a fire cracking in a fireplace. His body is instantly drawn to the heat and cozy feel behind the walls so he allows himself to wander in.

Dark cherry wood mixed with brick makes him feel like he’s in the study of someone’s home, dark leather couches tinted maroon angled towards whoever’s playing the piano. That seems to be where most of the crowd is so Blaine ducks right, mostly out of habit, towards the semi-filled bar to one of the empty stools. He sits down as he unbuttons his coat, letting out a soft sigh as he tries to force the tension that’s tying up his shoulders to unwind.

He debates ordering a beer because it kinda goes against the entire conversation he just left that made his fingers want to dig at his skin but…it’s been a long day; one beer won’t kill him and it’s been forever since he had one.

Besides, he has a dedicated work-out regiment waiting for him when he goes back home; this is like his last treat before being diet miserable.

“Est-ce que cette place est occupée?”

Blaine turns to look beside him and he’s suddenly entranced by a pair of green eyes; they remind him of dying leaves on the forest ground, right before autumn. They’re beautiful to say the least, a shade he’s never quite seen before in a person’s eyes and he’s almost too distracted by them to process his question.

A _question_ in French and Blaine finds himself opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish.

“Uh…” He trails off and nearly rolls his eyes at himself for being so eloquent, his eyes glancing down to the hand that’s touching the seat of the barstool next to him. “Sorry, I’m…I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

The stranger stares at him a moment and two thoughts start barreling towards one another in Blaine’s mind: for one, he’s worried that he recognizes him. The stranger’s gaze travels over the lines of his face as if he’s reading words printed there, a small scrunch appearing between his eyebrows but…it’s gone as soon as it appears. Blaine feels relief bloom in the bottom of his lungs.

And two, in this stalemate of conversation, he really has a chance to _look_ at him besides his green eyes. He’s tall, very handsome and even from the layers he has on to block out the cold he can tell he’s fit, clothes hugging his form as he takes off his coat to reveal a gray knit sweater. He’s got some scruff along his jawline, his mouth twitching into an amused smile even though Blaine hasn’t said anything else as he finds himself taking the stool next to him.

“I asked if this seat was available.” The stranger smiles a little, “American?” It’s more of a gentle teasing when he says it because Blaine feels heat curl up from under his collar, a soft laugh leaving his lips.

“What gave me away?” He throws back before considering what he’s said for a moment as the other male waves down the bartender. “Your French is very good.”

“Well, it was it my first language, so I’m a bit of a cheater.” He winks and when the bartender finally makes his way down to their end of the bar, the stranger orders a pint and waits for Blaine to give his order too— _oh_.

He lets out a slow breath and jumps in with both feet first. “I’ll take a pint as well.”

The stranger adjusts himself on his stool and runs a hand through his short brown hair, the coif a little off kilter because it’s wet from snowflakes. “I moved to New York when I was in high school though, so I lost my accent.”

Blaine brightens a little at the mention of home, “I’m from New York too; Brooklyn.”

“Manhattan,” He replies, reaching his hand towards him, “I’m Richard, by the way.”

He takes his hand in his, his palm soft even though there’s a callous on the inside of his thumb as it brushes against his knuckles. They fit almost perfectly, their hands, but his touch his gone before he can dwell on it for too much longer.

“Blaine,” He wraps his hand around his pint when it arrives, his finger brushing up and down along the outside of the glass to catch condensation. “I’m heading home tomorrow, which I know in a beautiful country like this it sounds silly but I’m looking forward to it. I’m homesick.”

Richard shrugs, taking a sip of his pint. “You here for work?”

He chews on the bottom of his lower lip, not wanting to dive into too much detail—it’s also the _last_ thing he wants to talk about. “Yeah but it’s boring, not much to say…I just kinda stand around all day.”

“I have to admit that I’m not surprised that your job entails standing around looking pretty.”

Blaine nearly _chokes_ on his sip of beer but manages to swallow it without sputtering it out everywhere. He shakes his head, unsure of what to say for a moment but out of the corner of his eye he can _see_ Richard’s reaction. Amusement that is far too handsome for this stranger’s own good tugs at the corners of his mouth, making Blaine’s stomach swoop.

Yeah, he’s not actually going to respond to that, he can’t. “Uh, so what is it that you do?”

Richard smiles against the rim of his pint glass as he takes another sip, “Artist. I’m into landscapes.”

Blaine takes a moment to unpack what that means—landscape artist like a…painter, or something more contemporary than what’s coming to mind? He chews on his lower lip before taking a sip of his own beer, the liquid sliding warm down his throat. Sometimes he likes to think about how his photographs could be more than just _fashion._ He knows that’s the point, to capture him in designer clothes—that’s what he gets paid for and that’s what brands want. But it’d be so interesting to feel like he was in a work of art, for his photos to transcend the run-of-the-mill clothing advertisements that pointed out to people he was wearing a two-thousand-dollar coat.

“Don’t overthink it,” Richard says after a moment.

Oops. He smiles, chuckling, “I was just thinking about what that really meant when you said landscapes. Like Monet?” Blaine angles his body towards the other a little, his voice warm and teasing. It takes him a moment to realize he’s flirting and before he tries to talk himself out of it, he does something better and _embraces_ it instead.

It’s been a while since his ex and he’s been insanely busy that he rarely even thinks about guys, let alone dating anyone—he can give himself this, a handsome stranger in a bar who’s leaning in just as close to talk with him over the sound of the piano in the background.

“No,” Richard pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and goes to his gallery, swiping past a few photos to find something specific.

“You don’t like working with people?”

Richard shrugs his one shoulder, focusing on his phone, “Sometimes people are too picky to capture. I rarely find someone interesting enough to photograph.”

He shows Blaine a photo that was obviously taken on a digital camera before being downloaded to his phone; the image is so clear—a bench sat next to a tree, browning leaves are on the grass and wood of the bench. The tree is in the process of losing leaves, long skeletal looking branches stretching up towards the sky.

“See, this is what I like about landscapes—inanimate objects are capable of speaking, you just have to figure out how to capture it.” He licks his lips, “What’s this photo say to you?”

Blaine looks at it for a long moment, his eyes traveling over different parts of the setting. “Loneliness.”

Richard’s watching him, he can feel his eyes ghosting over his expression as it stays glued on the phone, gaze like fingers through the curls falling onto his forehead. He hums a little and pockets his phone again as Blaine takes a long sip of his pint.

“Could be, or it’s about the weather teaching us stuff we have trouble doing in real life. What do leaves do in autumn?” He smiles a little, “They let go.”

Blaine finds himself smiling back, the sentiment stirring something inside his chest that feels warm and familiar even though he can’t quite name what it is or grasp it with his fingertips. He watches Richard take the final sip of his pint, foam sitting low in his glass before he stands and grabs his coat.

“It was nice talking with you Blaine from Brooklyn, maybe I’ll see you around.”

 _Ask for his number_ a voice, small but bright pokes at the back of his mind. “Yeah, you too. Thanks for showing me your work. I know sometimes with artists that’s not always easy.”

“Oh no worries, I don’t mind being the center of attention,” He winks as he fixes his collar and bundles up his coat. _Ask!_

Blaine bites down on the inside of his cheek, waving as he passes him. Just like sand slipping through his fingers, Richard is out the door and gone.

\--

He gets back to the hotel late and doesn’t check his email until he’s in the door, in his pajamas and lying across his bed. There’s a new notification from Stan and before he even opens it, he knows it’s about that shoot tomorrow he mentioned before he left.

_Secured a spot with that photographer I was talking about. I rescheduled your flight…_

He trails off, not reading the rest of it, knows he doesn’t really have a choice anyways. What’s he going to do? Skip the photoshoot? Despite the break he wants, that wouldn’t be fair to the photographer that’s coming to take pictures of him tomorrow—they’re dedicating their time and energy into doing this job and Blaine should at least give the same amount of effort.

With a soft sigh he sets his phone down on his nightstand, running a hand down over his face as a yawn slips out of his lips. Makeup will _definitely_ be needed to work on removing the dark circles that are going to appear underneath his eyes from not getting enough sleep. He can literally hear Stan’s voice in his ears about how he can’t always run on apologies and espresso.

Blaine pinches the bridge of his nose, aching for the week off that Stan’s promised him, wanting nothing more than to call in sick for this last photoshoot and just _go home._ His eyes slip closed and he blindly reaches to turn off the nightstand lamp, pressing his face into his pillow with a soft huff as his curls tickle his forehead.

He finds himself thinking about Richard, about leaning too close to him in the bar to listen to him speak about his landscape photography.

_They let go._

And that’s exactly what he finds himself doing as his body starts to unwind, slipping into sleep.

\--

It’s seven AM and Blaine isn’t even sure he’s alive let alone awake but here he is, wandering into another photoshoot. This time it’s in the Parc Floral de Paris, which apparently is one of four botanical gardens in Paris and has annual flower shows—according to the small amount of reading Blaine’s done on his way to his destination. He’s not quite sure about doing photos outside when it snowed last night but he’s lost steam in trying to argue points with photographers. Regardless of it being freezing, it might be interesting to have a winter shoot—it’s not something he’s done before and if the backdrop is paired with the right outfit…it could be new and exciting in the way he’s been hoping for.

A section of the park has been blocked off for them to use it, a small trailer set up for hair, makeup and wardrobe and he briefly wonders what he’ll be wearing today and for how long. He bites his tongue on asking when his rescheduled return flight time is, despite his friends texting him wanting to know if they can see him when he makes it back to New York…which is less and less likely now given the time difference.

“There you are,” Blaine hears Stan say and turns around to look at him, smiling as he lifts his large coffee up to his lips.

“Here I am.” He agrees, “What have you gotten me into this time?”

His manager offers a laugh, “Come on B, you’re always up for a challenge, right? What better way to test that theory than a photographer you haven’t worked with before paired with Mother Nature’s elements?”

Blaine scrunches his nose, “I’m not sure I’m up for _that_ much of a challenge; it’s freezing.”

“You’re going to be in a deliciously red three-piece suit today and against that snowy white background? You can’t tell me you’re not intrigued by that.”

Stan knows him far too well sometimes; that _does_ sound like a nice set up, very different than anything he’s really worked with before. For once it doesn’t sound like it’d just be a focus on what he’s wearing but how he works cohesively with the background to highlight different strengths of the photograph.

“Sebastian should be here any moment, like I said, he’s not used to photographing people but he wants to expand his portfolio—maybe even feature you on his social media accounts.”

Blaine licks his lips and takes a sip of his coffee, and it takes everything in him not to say _great, so I’m his eye candy—he’s just using me to pimp himself out._

“What better way than to involve a sweet face like yours, hmm?” Stan playfully cups his cheek and then _tsks_ the moment he sees those dark circles he was worried about. “Get to makeup soon, yeah? They got work to do.”

He rolls his eyes as Stan wanders off and takes a moment to gaze out into the park, maybe where he’ll be posing. There seems to be an ice-covered pond that might hold some promise and the stark black trees, bare of leaves, remind him of spider legs against the grayish sky. A red suit _would_ look amazing against that background…it’s definitely piquing his interest despite feeling tired and already a little bit frozen.

“Flavor of the month.” He mumbles to himself as he toes his boot against the snow.

“Is that what they call you?”

Blaine whirls around quickly, almost spilling his coffee on himself because he _recognizes_ that voice. He’s suddenly face to face again with those startling green eyes, like grass that’s been buried underneath the snow. As for the rest, it’s like seeing him for the first time thanks to the daylight compared to the dark, ill lit space of the bar. He’s just as handsome as he remembered, that smirk on the edges of his mouth making his stomach flip flop.

“What are you doing here?”

Richard opens his mouth to reply but Stan comes up behind him, a pleased smile on his face, “I see you met Blaine. Blaine, this is the photographer I was telling you about, Sebastian Smythe.”

He…he _what?_ He blinks for a second and he’s having a hard time putting two and two together but doesn’t have a chance to say much because Richard—no, _Sebastian_ is reaching for his hand to shake.

“Charmed.” He winks, the _dick,_ and turns a little to speak to Stan, “I just need to set up my camera but we can get started within the next half hour. Give Mr. Anderson some time to change his clothes, style his hair, maybe pick his jaw up off the floor.”

Blaine’s cheeks tint pink, he hates that he’s been caught off guard by someone he thought was a stranger. He waits until Stan’s finished a few questions for Sebastian, mostly about light and camera placement, before giving the taller a look.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow and puts his hands in his coat pockets, “What?”

“You don’t get to what me, you said your name was _Richard.”_

“It is…it’s my middle name.” His eyes begin drinking Blaine in as if he hadn’t had the chance to last night, eyes tracing along his sides, the soft curves of his face, the spring in his curls. If he wasn’t so flustered about this second meeting he wasn’t prepared for, he might be flattered. “Am I supposed to just give up my first and last name to any handsome stranger in a bar?”

 _Handsome._ Blaine stutters a moment, almost telling him _exactly_ where he can shove his first and last name because this is ridiculous. Did he know who he was when he decided to sit down next to him on that other barstool? Or was it all coincidence—did they just so happen to end up at the same bar, at the same time, talking about New York and art. He can’t deny that it felt nice just to _talk_ to someone that wasn’t Cooper or his best friends about anything that wasn’t his day job.

He clamps down on a softer and smaller voice in the back of his mind that whispers _now that the universe has pushed you together again, you can ask for his number._

Sebastian licks his lips, swaying forward on his feet a moment, pulling Blaine back into the conversation, “Besides, why are we throwing stones, Anderson? You said your job was boring.”

And okay, while it feels unfair to have this thing turn around on him…he supposes he’s got a point. He lets out a long sigh and tips his chin towards the sky for a moment as he considers what he’s said. Just like that, Blaine can pinpoint the exact moment Sebastian realizes his walls are coming down because his shoulders relax, he angles his body towards him and he takes a step closer into his personal space as they continue to talk.

“I guess I just meant…” He thinks for a moment on how to phrase this, “Sometimes I feel like a potted plant.” Sebastian raises an eyebrow but he’s quiet, waiting for him to elaborate. “Turned every so often towards the light, posed, dirt pressed with thumbs.”

He swallows, the imagery filtering in too many unwanted thoughts about photographers moving him with their hands during a shoot or trying to ‘re-plant’ him after the photos are taken—editing out parts of himself that he didn’t realize were undesirable.

Blaine shakes his head, a soft smile quite not meeting his eyes as he says, “It can get boring.”

Sebastian tilts his head back towards the trailer and they begin walking there slowly, taking their time, boots crunching in the snow. “Clearly someone isn't photographing you correctly, you're far more interesting than that.”

He wonders if this is what people like about Sebastian, that he clearly knows what to say and how to say it—despite that they’re pick-up lines that should sound shallow or cheesy, there’s a merit to them that strike a chord in Blaine’s chest. He _wants_ to believe him; that the reason he feels so naked behind the camera lens is that someone isn’t capturing him right. How can Sebastian know he’s more interesting than his potted plant analogy when he barely even knows him?

Blaine glances over his expression as they walk, trying to read something beyond the surface but coming up with a blank page. “So, you knew who I was but…you didn’t say anything, why?”

Sebastian pauses right outside the trailer steps, a small smile tugging the ends of his mouth. “Yeah, I knew who you were but I didn't think you wanted to be noticed.”

His eyes start peeling back his layers, like opening a book but…somehow deeper, like there’s a hidden message _between_ singular pages. He’s taking the pages apart and revealing hidden words Blaine hasn’t shared with someone in a long time—and he’s doing it all just by looking.

“Not like that anyways.” He motions to the door. “Go get dressed, I’ll meet you back out here. We’ll make this as painless as possible, promise.” There’s no teasing to his tone, however, he’s serious when it comes to his craft.

Blaine watches him turn and walk towards the frozen pond he first saw when he made his way into the park, beginning to direct people with lights away because apparently, he wants to use as much natural light as possible. His gaze stays on him for as long as it can before he wanders up the steps and into the trailer.

He likes the phrase of we— _we’ll make this as painless as possible,_ inferring to the fact that it’s not just Sebastian working the camera but that Blaine is _also_ part of that process. It might have been accidental, a slip of tongue that shouldn’t mean much…but it does. It’s not often that he gets to weigh in on photo sessions even when _he’s_ the subject.

He runs a hand through his curls and lets the trailer door close behind him, trying not to put as much merit to Sebastian’s words as he wants to. He’ll just have to see whether he treats him like another potted plant or as beautiful and natural as something in the Parc Floral de Paris.

\--

Stan isn’t kidding; it’s a three-piece suit in blood red. The vest, pants, and jacket are a bright shade while the button up shirt resembles a maroon. His shoes are black and cufflinks gold, the handkerchief sticking out of the pocket a flame of velvet ruby. It’s some of the softest material he’s ever worn as it slips onto his skin like a glove, warm enough that he shouldn’t feel too frozen even when he has to take his winter coat off to pose in the snow.

Blaine glances at himself in the mirror, almost not recognizing himself, his curls deliciously dark in comparison with the vibrant red. His hazel eyes resemble liquid caramel as the makeup and hair artists flutter around him, giving him final touches before he has to walk outside. He keeps thinking about that short story by Edgar Allan Poe, the one about the masquerade ball— _Masque of the Red Death_ as he stands there draped in scarlet. He smooths his hand down the front of his suit, fiddling for a few buttons on his vest for a moment before angling himself in front of the mirror.

He looks…well, he looks _dashing_ in a way he rarely feels dressed for photoshoots. Blaine knows he has a good sense of style; he likes putting outfits together when he’s with his friends or going out for a date. But sometimes he can be in clothing worth thousands of dollars and feel completely naked, stripped of what makes him feel like himself.

This though? It feels like a second skin, something he wouldn’t mind wearing to an event outside this photoshoot. Speaking of…

He grabs his coat and slips it over his shoulders before stepping back outside, a soft shiver traveling down his spine as the cold nips at the tops of his ears. He’s meeting Sebastian by the pond and as his feet crunch through the snow, he notices that there’s not a lot of equipment set up with what he usually expects for a shoot. No extra lights or shades or props…which means as a photographer he must do a lot of editing _after_ the pictures are taken because there’s nothing to take the viewer’s eye off of Blaine.

Nervousness pops in his bloodstream like fizzling soda and tries not to think about that, the editing Sebastian will do on the suit to fix a crease or his body to tuck and tighten. His fingers start to twitch, wanting to curl up into his palms, to scrape his nails on the soft insides of his arms—

“Ready?”

He turns as he gets to the frozen pond, Sebastian approaching him with a camera in his hands, except, “That’s a polaroid.”

A smile twitches his lips and Blaine _really_ wishes he didn’t find it so attractive, “Yeah, good call.” He feels embarrassment lick at his nerve endings a little before Sebastian taps the top of the camera, “I like to take simple candids of my work, reminds me why I like being a photographer in the first place. Nothing fancy, just the film and the subject.”

Blaine’s eyes analyze the camera before fluttering his gaze back up at the photographer, “So you do this with all your landscapes?”

He hums in response before, “Then it’ll be you, amidst greenery like you are now.”

“How do I know you’re not just going to take this polaroid and sell it on E-Bay?”

It takes Sebastian a moment to realize that Blaine’s teasing him and a soft laugh rumbles from his chest, “Was that a joke, Blaine Anderson?”

“I do make them from time to time, though I can’t promise it’ll be as good as that one.”

“What a shame,” His eyesight flutters along his form, appreciating, even though he’s still wrapped up in his coat, “I didn’t realize you were a little feisty; it’s a good look on you.”

Blaine smiles and tries to dampen it by chewing on the corner of his mouth, “I’m just full of surprises.”

“I can tell, you can see it in your eyes in some of your other photoshoots,” He helps Blaine take his coat off, smoothing out a bit of wrinkled material of his suit near the lapels. Before he can say anything about his last comment, Sebastian shrugs his one shoulder at the expression on his face, “I had to do some research on you to see what you’ve done before. Wouldn’t want this to be a wasted time because you’ve done something similar.”

He straightens his back, letting out a soft breath that puffs into the frigid air; he’s definitely not worried about this photoshoot feeling repetitively boring. “I’m sure you’re very good at surprising people.”

“Haven’t heard a complaint yet.” Sebastian fixes a curl near his ear and when he takes a few steps back, Blaine hears the snap of the polaroid being taken. He was looking at his shoes, one hand in his pocket, his other arm hanging loosely at his side.

He hopes, for a candid, it’s at least a flattering angle.

Sebastian grins, shaking the photo a little in the air for quicker development. “If you get too cold let me know, we’ll take a break, warm you back up again.” He winks, making a heated flush travel down the back of his neck. With conversations like _that,_ he rarely notices the snow he’s standing in.

“Let’s get started.”

\--

The shoot starts out slow; with the snow there’s not a lot of difficult poses Blaine can make. He can’t sit on the ground (not because Sebastian doesn’t want him to ruin the suit but because it’s too cold and wet) and he thinks about bringing a fancy chair out too late. It’s also a little more difficult for him to _hold_ poses as well, the snow slipping against his shoes. He nearly loses his balance just once, Sebastian grinning and snapping a photo before asking if he’s okay.

Blaine finds himself worrying about ruining the aesthetic Sebastian’s going for…but he’s learned not to share his two cents when it comes to a photographer’s work. No one _likes_ being told how to do their job.

Besides, Sebastian doesn’t seem bothered by the restraints; he keeps snapping photos, sometimes with little or no direction for Blaine to follow. He wonders if it’s from working with nature for so long—he doesn’t need to tell plants, weather and other inanimate objects how to pose.

“Okay,” Sebastian says after a moment, changing his lens and tilting his head at Blaine. “Can you take your hands out of your pockets?” Blaine nods and does as he’s asked, “Now, tilt your body to the left…” He smiles, “Your other left.”

Oops.

Blaine lets out a soft laugh and turns, waiting a moment to make sure he’s got the right angle.

“This is going to feel weird but lean forward, almost as if you’re going to pick something up and look up at me, through your eyelashes.”

His back creates a straight red line and he can kinda understand the sultry vibe Sebastian seems to be going for and gets into the position, holding it.

“That alright?” It takes a moment for Blaine to realize that Sebastian is _asking_ him about the pose he’s in. He opens his mouth but no words tumble forward…it’s just, he’s not used to being asked; he meant what he said about resembling a potted plant during photoshoots.

“It’s not too uncomfortable, I mean, is it?”

“No, it’s…I’m okay.” Blaine says after a moment and Sebastian nods before he begins to snap a bunch of photos again.

“Alright, good, thanks.” Sebastian mumbles, a little bit to himself as he pulls his camera back to click through a few he’s just taken. He looks to the sky; the rolling clouds causing his nose to scrunch and tells someone behind him that they need a standing light now.

Blaine draws his shoulders together a moment, the tips of his ears and nose beginning to feel a little frozen but…something sparks warm inside him when Sebastian meets his gaze again and begins to walk towards him.

 _I rarely find someone interesting enough to photograph—_ he remembers him saying that at the bar and while he knows he’s not doing this photoshoot pro-bono; Sebastian doesn’t seem like the type of person who says ‘yes’ without wanting to do something. His stomach flutters at their proximity, a soft smile working its way onto his mouth at the photographer.

“You too cold?”

“I’m alright,” Blaine sticks his hands in his pockets. “Do we have more poses to do?”

“I was thinking about two more, then we’ll look at what we got.” Sebastian hangs his camera around his neck, rubbing his hands together for a few moments to warm up his fingers. “Alright,” He hesitates a moment. “Can I…”

Blaine’s eyebrows scrunch before he realizes, _oh,_ he’s asking his permission to put him into the next pose. There’s no rough and insistent touch to force his body into a shape that reminds him too much of hands gripping a tripod and twisting knobs so it stays at a certain height.

When he nods, Sebastian puts his hand on his lower back. He turns him so he’s sideways against the backdrop of the pond.

“You can keep your hands in your pockets. Lean back,” He uses his hand as support before pulling back. “Basically, I want you to lean back as far as you can without falling or feeling like you’re going to break in half.”

A laugh slips from his mouth, “Were you a gymnast in your past life or something?”

Sebastian grins, “If you’re trying to ask whether I’m flexible, the answer is yes.” He licks his lips and mimics the pose he wants Blaine to achieve. “Lean back, hands in pockets, and look at the camera.”

It looks so easy when he does it, the long lines of his body curling gently as he tilts his back. He bites his tongue on asking him whether he has modeling experience too—not that the gentle teasing back and forth isn’t nice but he’s starting to feel rather cold out here, especially as some of the warmth from the sun starts to disappear.

Blaine begins leaning back and turns to look towards Sebastian, his tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth in concentration.

“Good?” Sebastian asks, a slow smile settling handsomely on his face as the palm of his hand brushes against his lower back.

“Not if you keep doing that.” Blaine admits, the touch wickedly distracting…and yet, he’s pretty sure Sebastian knows that.

He nods his head once before pulling away and snaps the photos quickly, turning his camera angle from vertical to horizontal every so often before he motions to Blaine that he can stand up.

“Alright, uh, I want to do one more—can you manage?”

Blaine nods and Sebastian motions for one of the camera crew Stan keeps around to hand him a white porcelain cup and saucer. It’s decorated delicately with pink and red flowers, gold decorating the rim and handle of the cup and he blinks at it for a moment because… _what?_ When he takes a breath in he picks up hints of Earl Gray steam that’s wafting from the cup and can’t stop himself from taking a sip of the piping hot liquid.

_Click!_

He looks up—Sebastian’s just captured a photo of him. His eyebrows draw together a little, “Uh, sorry, I’m a bit confused. Are we on break? Because if we are this is the fanciest cup of tea I’ve ever had on a photoshoot.”

Sebastian laughs softly and adjusts a few buttons on the top of his camera, “Not quite, last pose.”

He waits but never gets any direction, the pads of his fingers enjoying the heat from the steaming cup. He buttons his suit jacket with one hand, trying to gather a little bit more warmth until Sebastian is ready—

_Click!_

Blaine frowns; another picture.

“Wait, sorry, what do you want me to do?”

Sebastian chews on his lower lip, his gaze narrowing just a little. He’s not angry or upset but contemplatively confused, as if he’s somehow told him telepathically what he has in mind for these last few photos. There’s also a thrum of amusement beneath his gaze at Blaine’s innocent line of questioning.

“Isn’t it obvious? Whatever you want. I put the teacup in your hand; decide on some poses for yourself. I’ll keep snapping; we can discard what you don’t like, keep the ones you do.”

 _We can discard what you don’t like—_ the concept rings in his head a moment, vibrating between his ears. He’ll be able to give honest feedback on Sebastian’s photos when he’s finished with them? Really? It almost seems too steep of an offer, like something’s waiting for him at the bottom of the hill to swallow him whole.

But he decides to embrace the feeling while it lasts.

Stan’s found his way behind Sebastian, arms crossed over his chest, watching them with a knowing tilt to his head. Blaine runs through a variety of poses; mostly silly, smiling things because Sebastian is making him laugh and he’s…having _fun,_ standing there in the freezing cold, snow licking the bottom of his suit pants, holding a cup of rapidly cooling tea in a tiny cup.

\--

He takes his time after he undresses to pull his regular clothes back on. For once he wishes he had an extra pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweater because these jeans feel like cardboard against his slightly frozen skin. It takes him a while to warm up, so he finds a soft spot in the trailer and curls his legs up and under himself. He runs a hand through his curls, scrunching some of his hair so the very gentle amount of gel in his hair falls loose.

Blaine’s playing with the bottom of his t-shirt when he hears a knock on the trailer door and he straightens his back against the seat he’s in, “Come in.”

The door opens to reveal Sebastian, a laptop and cup of to-go coffee in his hands. “Thought you might want this—you were starting to resemble the abominable snowman out there.”

Blaine smiles and reaches for the coffee when it’s handed to him, wrapping his palms around the cheap Styrofoam. He watches as Sebastian grabs another chair and tugs it towards Blaine, placing it close enough that if they both leaned forward their shoulders would be pressed together. The photographer slips off his coat and he tries to force his gaze back down into the warm brown liquid of his coffee but he can’t stop himself from brushing over shoulders and arms of Sebastian in a mustard colored sweater. It highlights the green from his eyes, Blaine notices, as he sits down and opens his laptop on his knees.

“Thought you might want to see some of your photographs before I go.”

His eyebrows pinch together for a moment because he wants to share them already? Has he had time to edit them all? Or is he already done because there were so many terrible ones that he only has a decent handful to go through now.

It doesn’t look like he has much of a choice and he bites down on his lower lip, hard, to prevent himself from telling him ‘no’. It’s not that he wants to insult Sebastian’s work or anything, it’s just that he rarely likes looking at photos of himself before (and sometimes after) editing. How many things does he have to ‘fix’ before the photo is considered ‘perfect’? His nails brush against the inside of his right arm as Sebastian double clicks on a folder, opening up today’s photographs. He’s faced with hundreds of himself, small thumbnails.

He forces his fingers to close around the cup and concentrates on the warmth of his coffee for several moments before allowing himself to look at the online portfolio. Sebastian scrolls through and clicks on one every so often with a soft smile, detailing what he likes about each of the photos that he decides to highlight. There are so many in the folder and he wants to ask how he seems to know which ones to click on; which ones hold promise above all the others?

“I think the teacup series are my favorite,” Sebastian clicks on several and Blaine muses over his arm to look at them.

He doesn’t automatically see what’s wonderful about them. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the poses or that Sebastian hasn’t done a great job in somehow capturing the brightness of the snow, the blood red of the suit and the dark chocolate patterns of his curls, because he has. But when Blaine stares into the photos, they stare back at him—like looking into a mirror and he feels utterly ordinary.

“Why?” He asks after a moment, Sebastian clicking on another one.

“Because they’re candids for the most part, you’re the most relaxed in these.” He zooms in on the photo he has displayed and he’s able to focus on the steam curling out of the mug against his rosy cheeks. Blaine finds himself staring at it for a moment because wow, the image is so crisp, Sebastian’s _good._ “Not sure if the magazine will want to go with these because it’s less focus on your clothes, but maybe. Would be a damn shame.” He smiles, glancing over at him.

Their faces are close, closer than Blaine realized as he looks at Sebastian’s laptop. And like a deer caught in headlights they remain unmoving for a few moments. They watch one another, eyes drinking each other in, following the soft blush, smile lines and stubble. Blaine feels the exact moment Sebastian looks at his lips, licking his own, the air suddenly sucked right out of the room.

As cold as he was feeling before is irrelevant now, heat curling up from underneath the collar of his shirt and thrumming quickly in his veins. He could kiss him, he thinks, if he really wanted to. Could lean right in and brush their lips together and capture his mouth with his own. But despite the amount of attraction Blaine feels bubbling between them he leans back, just slightly and clears his throat, breaking the moment into pieces.

“Don’t you need to, uh, edit these still?”

Sebastian smiles, not thrown off by Blaine’s hesitance, something like amusement dancing in his green eyes. _A challenge,_ he realizes, _a promise_ as he looks back at the photos and purses his lips. “Yes, of course,” Blaine knew there was another shoe dropping somewhere with these photos. “Cropping a few at the edges, maybe upping the contrast…I really want your suit to stand out a little more than it’s showing up here. Too maroon and not enough cherry.”

Blaine blinks because, wait, Sebastian has to know what he means, “No, I…don’t you have to…” He trails off, wants to say the word ‘fix’ but really hates how it weighs on his tongue. “Touch them up?”

Something resembling a shadow passes over Sebastian’s face as he stares at him and it fades as he straightens his back and opens his mouth only to close it a moment later. The muscles in his jaw work as he chews on his words before he says them, as if he wants to make sure they’re the right ones.

“No,” He says after what feels like too long, “Not like that. Why mess with perfection?”

A soft, genuine smile slips onto Blaine’s face and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with an emotion he’s not quite sure how to define; _gratitude_ maybe or _touched_ but allows himself to feel it all the same. Not only is it nice to have a guy talk to him like that again but it’s even better to feel supported by a photographer.

“You’re just saying that because Stan’s probably paying you a decent amount to put up with me.” He laughs a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck before leaning back into his seat.

“True,” Sebastian grins, shutting his laptop. “But also because you're cute and you don't smile like that when you're posing. It’s why I like your candids so much.”

He stands and takes his coat off the back of the chair, slipping it over his shoulders and buttoning up against the frigid wind outside.

“I have to get going, got a flight to catch.”

Blaine worries his lower lip in-between his teeth for a moment before he nods; this time he’s going to say something. “Maybe you could look me up? When we’re both home. I’m heading back tomorrow morning.”

“Aren’t you hidden from the public eye?” He teases, “Can’t just find your address and phone number online.” Sebastian smiles, picking up his laptop and holding it against his chest. “The busy bee model has time for little ol’ me?”

He rolls his eyes, “I’m not a celebrity—”

“Tell that to the bunch of men and women who probably have one of your photoshoots as their cell phone wallpaper.”

“Are you telling me what you have your wallpaper set to right now?” Blaine grins even though he feels his cheeks heat up from the attention, “That’s adorable, really.”

“Two jokes from you in one day, I’m feeling spoiled.” He winks, putting the chair back where he got it from in the trailer and backs up towards the door. He pauses for a moment like he wants to say something but doesn’t, instead he clears his throat and tilts his head towards the outside.

“Right,” Blaine says softly, “I meant what I said, Stan’s giving me a week off once I’m home.”

Sebastian smiles and nods, “Maybe another photoshoot in our future.”

“I’d like that,” He hopes he doesn’t say it too quickly…but it’s one of the first times he _means_ it.

“Something to look forward to,” He pushes the door open with his shoulder and says, “Until next time, Blaine Anderson from Brooklyn,” disappearing into the snow.

\--

Blaine’s making his way out of the trailer to catch a cab, his stomach won’t stop rumbling and he realizes it’s because he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. He barely had time to do even that before showing up here and if he doesn’t eat a proper lunch he’s going to be cranky for the rest of the day. Not to mention he’d like to have the energy to do some proper sightseeing before he has to head to the airport to leave France.

“Heading out?”

He turns to see Stan typing out an email on his phone, looking up at him as he approaches and Blaine nods.

“Did you enjoy the shoot?” He opens his mouth to reply but Stan turns his phone screen off and sticks it into his pocket, interrupting him before he can utter a word, “It’s rhetorical—I’m only asking because I know you did. Never seen you like that during a photoshoot, was almost like you were _enjoying_ yourself.”

Blaine looks to the sky before letting out a slow breath, “Stan, my week—”

“Officially begins when you’re back home, so you’re still on my clock Anderson.” He licks his lips, eyes fluttering over his expression. “You two seemed like you knew one another.”

“Just by happenstance, ran into him in a bar.” He’s not sure what he’s trying to get at but he can tell he’s going…somewhere with this conversation. “What do you want me to say so I can go? Yes, I enjoyed the photoshoot—wasn’t completely grueling this time _and_ he’s not fixing my photos.”

Stan smiles and immediately Blaine doesn’t like it.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like him, don’t you?”

“I like his _work,”_ Blaine insists, turning on his heel to walk out of the park.

“Yeah and what else?” Stan calls after him, a soft laugh circling his words.

Blaine just waves goodbye in response over his shoulder, even though a soft smile pulls at the ends of his mouth like an invisible hook.

\--

As Blaine waits for the plane to completely load with passengers the next morning, he tries his best not to fiddle on his phone. He feels filled to the brim with nervous and excited energy at going back home, at having a week all to himself to spend with his cat, friends, family and…

He chews on his lower lip, flipping through his apps until he finds Instagram.

His thumb hovers over the app for a long moment before he taps it, the Polaroid icon almost feeling like it’s mocking him as he goes for the search bar, typing in Sebastian’s name. Yeah, he’s probably a little ridiculous for doing this; it’s not like Stan doesn’t have his contact information. He could just _ask_ for it, text him like anyone else would.

But part of him doesn’t want to give Stan the satisfaction of being right and another absurd part wants Sebastian to reach out to him first. It’s not until he starts typing into the search does he notice he has a notification: someone’s tagged him in a photo. Often after shoots he has to turn off his notifications because he gets _swarms_ of people tagging him in photos, posts and stories alike. It gets too overwhelming.

When he takes a break, it’s easier for him to sneakily turn it back on once the hype dies and it’s not as terrible. Clicking on the appropriate tab, his stomach nearly falls into his knees because—

_SS_photography has tagged you in a photo._

Blaine follows through, clicking on the photo that takes him to Sebastian’s Instagram. His circular profile picture is of him holding a camera up to his face as if he’s about to take a photo, the backdrop of Golden Gate Bridge in a soft red highlighting his figure. The description simply says: **Sebastian, Manhattan** with a link to his online portfolio.

Leaves a lot to the imagination.

He glances over his profile, almost overwhelmed by a sea of green, brown, natural earth tones until cherry red almost smacks him in the face it’s so jarring. It’s a photo of him from the shoot yesterday, a little edited for contrast—but just as Sebastian promised, that’s it. There’s no skinny-ing of his thighs or around his tummy or anything else that makes him feel like a carbon copy version of himself, hollow, not quite there.

It’s one of the candids with the teacup, positioned further away to capture the nature around him and not just what he’s wearing; Blaine’s looking down, smiling, all soft curls and long eyelashes.

It’s beautiful; gorgeous in a way he hasn’t thought about himself in a long time.

He swallows as he scrolls up to look at the caption: _thanks to @blainetheanderson for standing out in the snow for these photos. Seems completely worth it if you ask me ;)_

There are some tags but they’re mostly about photography, the camera he used, and the location in France. Blaine bites down on his lower lip, his heart fluttering against his ribcage like a hummingbird as he double-taps the photo, liking it. He then types out a comment below:

_Any time ;) though I wouldn’t say no to more hot tea next time!_

The photo already has over two-thousand likes and he posted it forty minutes ago.

It doesn’t take him long to hit the blue follow button before perusing some of Sebastian’s earlier nature photos, having no shame in liking photos that are months before the most current ones. When the pilot comes over the speaker and begins discussing the route and weather for the flight, Blaine buckles his seatbelt and turns his phone screen off, settling back into the seat.

Right before he puts his device on airplane mode, he gets another notification from Instagram: _SS_photography started following you._

Blaine can’t stop the infectious smile on his face as he leans his head back against the headrest, ready for takeoff.

\--

Letting out a long sigh, Blaine steps out of the shower and wraps a fluffy towel around his waist. Two days are gone out of his scheduled week vacation and he’s already feeling rejuvenated—mostly because he’s barely left his apartment. He’s spent a lot of time with his cat, Sam and Jake have come over for dinner a few times and he’s worked out in the pool but all of that has taken place in his complex.

It’s nice, almost, hunkering down in his apartment and _relaxing._ He needs to do this every so often to ground himself, almost as if he needs the reminder that he’s human and that taking breaks do matter.

Blaine dries himself off and slips a pair of boxer briefs up his legs before using his towel to dry his curls, they feel wild and unruly when he finishes, slipping his fingers along a few near his ear. He tosses the towel towards the hamper and licks his lips, glancing at himself in the mirror. His eyesight instantly hovers over the inside of his arms, gentle white scars that you wouldn’t really notice unless you were looking for them decorating his skin. Where he’s dug his nails in, where he couldn’t _stop_ scratching, stares right back at him—unwilling to properly heal.

Clearing his throat and shaking his head, he forces himself to look back at his face.

He looks tired despite the rest and knows just by the time break is over he’ll be ready to start all over again. Having a routine is good and he likes being busy, but sometimes thinking about finding a theater job again and sinking into the mask of a ‘faceless nobody’ sounds appealing.

He remembers when he first met Stan and he’d called him _magnetic_ and tries to think about the last time he really felt that way modeling.

 _You know exactly when you felt like that._ But it wasn’t through his own eyes…

It was things Sebastian said to him, how he _looked_ at him, drawing the lines of his body with brushes of his gaze. He sighs and looks to the ceiling a moment—it’s really ridiculous the amount of time he’s spent thinking of him since he got back. He wanders into his bedroom and drags on a pair of soft gray joggers and a black Henley, smoothing his hair back even though his curls stick out of place.

He can’t help but feel a _little_ disappointed he hasn’t heard from Sebastian yet…it’s not like he’s waiting by his phone or anything but he did expect a message even though that feels silly to admit. He plops himself down on his couch, his black cat Raven trilling and rushing to join him, bumping into his left thigh as he settles down on the cushion. He hums softly and pets between his ears, smiling a little at the satisfied purr that leaves the cat’s throat, eyes slipping closed at the attention.

“You think I’m being utterly ridiculous, don’t you?” He asks even though he doesn’t expect an answer. Raven trills again and nudges his head into the petting.

Blaine leans his head back against his couch and closes his eyes for a moment before curiosity gets the better of him and he picks up his phone, tapping on the Instagram app. He’s got a ton of notifications that he’s been ignoring, mostly from featuring Sam and Jake on his story and posting a picture of his balcony that had the tag #vacationing. It’s not a terribly good photo; just an angle of his coffee cup with steam curling out and a purplish-pink blotted sky in the background.

And then he notices it; he’s got a message in the top right corner. He usually has his DMs blocked because his fans try to reach out a _little_ too personally but since the vacation, he’s been turning it on every so often.

His stomach nearly sinks into the couch underneath him because he knows who it is before he even clicks on the notification.

Sebastian has messaged him about his last photo.

_Trying our hand at nature photography? ;)_

Blaine smiles a little but finds himself shaking his head as he types out, _Nah I leave that to the professionals._

He doesn’t expect a quick reply back but a few minutes after he hits the send button a little green dot appears next to Sebastian’s name, signaling he’s online.

_Typing…_

_Who says you can’t be a professional?_

_Typing…_

_Want to learn?_

He stares at the messages for a moment and isn’t quite sure what to make of them. Learn as in…how to work his camera? Blaine turns and lays down on his couch, a soft disgruntled noise leaving his cat at being disturbed as he settles on his stomach. He cushions a pillow under his chin and types back.

_Is this your attempt at a pickup line?_

Blaine waits, his heart beginning to jackhammer in his chest as he watches the _Typing…_ notification pop up several times before Sebastian’s message comes through.

_Maybe. Is it working? I do want to see you again. What about another photoshoot? Something lowkey…you can wear whatever you want. I’m not picky ;)_

He sits up a little, letting the screen go dark as he thinks. He’s confused by the overwhelming sensation to say ‘yes’ so quickly even though he’s supposed to be taking a break. He liked getting his photos taken by Sebastian, that was obvious; there was a level of respect from him as a photographer that had definitely surprised him.

But not only that, he seems to be able to capture photos of him that feel honest and real; they’re not forced or too posed. Sebastian asks for his opinion and he seems to genuinely want it. So he holds his breath and types back,

_Okay, when?_

The reply is instant: _What are you doing right now?_

_\--_

Blaine waits for Sebastian at the corner of Bryant Square Park, one of his favorite places in New York. He’s not sure if they’re going to take photos there or what, the small thrill of something so unplanned working up his spine and spreading like fluttering wings in his bloodstream. He’d told him to wear whatever he wanted so he ends up putting on one of his favorite pair of chinos that are a dirty mustard color and a plaid patterned sweater.

The temperature is a bit nippy, fluctuating up and down throughout the day, warmer in the sun—so he has to pull on a leather jacket so he doesn’t get too cold. A maroon beanie controls his curls for now and sometimes helps him hide from overeager fans and paps who seem to be able to find him too easily in New York. He _swears_ that Stan uses his location and leaks it sometimes so people can photograph him up and about…he should really talk to him about that.

“Mustard is a bold color choice for someone who prefers to remain anonymous.”

Blaine smiles softly before he turns at the voice, his eyes falling onto the familiar face of Sebastian. He’s overcome by how handsome he is all over again, his gaze trailing over the lines of his face to notice that he’s shaved since the last time they saw one another. It suits him. He’s in a simple pair of blue jeans and navy sweater that’s sticking out of a black coat, his camera bag over his shoulder.

He rocks back on his heels a moment, hands in his pockets. “Pretty big assumption.”

Sebastian motions to the park over his shoulder and they begin walking, crossing the street and up the steps to submerge themselves into tall trees, benches and New Yorkers milling around with coffee cups glued to their hands.

“It’s not an assumption. You don’t want to be in the semi-celebrity spotlight even though it’s clear you belong in it.”

Blaine swallows, not sure if he likes the feeling of being pressed under a microscope and yet…it’s weird. Sebastian seems to know him without even trying, by taking his photos and somehow seeing into his soul. His grandmother used to have a saying about that, about photos being a ‘window’ into the soul, especially through the eyes. He never thought much of it until he met Sebastian.

“You don’t know me,” He says after a moment, though he doesn’t mean for it to come out so defensive.

Sebastian isn’t offended, however, just smiles a little at his statement because _yes, he does,_ in a way that feels invasive yet serendipitous all at the same time.

They pass by a coffee cart and Sebastian pauses, pulling his camera out of his bag and taking the lens cover off. “Want coffee?”

Blaine glances at the cart and shrugs his shoulder, sticking his hands deeper in his pockets. “Don’t we have photos to take?”

“I forgot to tell you the best two stipulations about today: black and white and candid.”

He blinks because…what? “You’re joking.”

“Rarely,” He licks his lips, aiming his camera towards a tree over Blaine’s shoulder and taking a practice shot, nodding his head at the seemingly satisfied capture.

“None of those are going to turn out okay,” He swallows, almost regretting this meeting completely.

Sebastian stares at him a moment before a soft laugh tumbles out of his mouth, “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were serious. Have you _looked_ at yourself?” He shakes his head. “The photos will make do, trust me.” There’s a playful eyeroll as he turns towards the coffee cart menu, “Order whatever you want.”

Blaine takes a step forward, glazing over the menu before turning his attention back to Sebastian for a moment. “Today is really just about candids?”

“I mean depending on the background, the context, how much time we spend together—I might make you pose a few times, sure. But I’ve already told you, your candids are hidden gems. Let me do what I do best.”

He pulls the one side of his beanie down so it covers more of his right ear, still feeling a little wary about the whole thing. He’s not used to being photographed that way, completely open, caught unaware. While the prospect seems refreshing, he’s still getting that ‘stationary plant’ vibe by being watched so closely—except now he’s a tree in the ground, in nature, instead of being stuck in a tiny pot.

“I’ll delete whatever you don’t like,” Sebastian offers, clearly confident in his abilities. “Promise.”

And really? How is he supposed to say no to that?

\--

Blaine’s let Sebastian snap a number of pictures of him throughout the afternoon, mostly in Bryant Square Park while walking around with cups of coffee and discussing odds and ends topics. He doesn’t always notice when he’s snapping the camera, which he supposes is the point, but he does feel hyperaware of Sebastian’s movements around him. Like a magnet, his body drifts as the other’s does, opposite, keeping a soft distance as Sebastian builds a second folder of him.

They stop at a fountain in the park that’s a little frozen over but still running and Blaine loves that. When he turns and looks over his shoulder, Sebastian snaps that photo instantly even though it feels like a faux pas with the direct eye contact.

A soft blush kisses his cheeks, “So when can I see them?”

“When we’re done,” Sebastian says, taking a step towards him, “I want to take some of you with your beanie off.” He reaches his hand forward but hesitates and Blaine realizes he’s asking for his permission. He nods softly and his beanie is tugged off, loose hair blowing in the wind. “I like your curls.”

“They’re a little too wild.” Blaine says after a moment, scrunching his nose as he stuffs the beanie into his pocket.

“No such thing. That one GQ photoshoot didn’t appreciate how they could add to your angles, gelled them straight back.”

“I _was_ in a tuxedo.” He tries to defend but it sounds a little silly even to his own ears, a laugh sneaking into the end of his sentence.

Sebastian rolls his eyes and adjusts the lens, taking photos as they walk. When they reach another corner of the park, he motions across the street with a, “Want to grab some lunch?”

Blaine didn’t expect to be spending the entire afternoon with Sebastian but it’s not like he has any other plans (sorry Raven) and a large part of him is interested in seeing how the candid photos turned out. So he nods and follows him across the street to a café on the corner, pushing the door open with his shoulder. He’s aware that Sebastian’s taken a few more shots because he’s looking at the small viewing screen on his camera before snapping the lens cap back on and gently putting it into his bag when they order.

There’s a calorie intake wheel spinning in his brain as he looks at the menu because despite how he likes to think the editing of the other photoshoots don’t bother him, it does. It’s not like he starves himself or anything, he gets the calories he needs every day, swims whenever possible and doesn’t eat dessert unless it’s a special occasion. He’s just… _managing;_ people do that all the time.

Still, it sucks when Sebastian orders a hot turkey sandwich with a side of fries and he gets a small side salad. At least it has some strawberries, walnuts and feta cheese. He lets out a long sigh as he settles at a small table by the window, taking off his leather jacket to hang on the back of his chair. He stretches, rubbing the back of his neck as Sebastian sits down across from him.

“So can I ask?” Sebastian says after a moment, taking his laptop out from his camera bag to set on one side of their table. “How did you get into modeling?”

Blaine pokes at his salad, adding a little vinaigrette to one side of his bowl and munching on a larger piece of feta cheese. “Don’t you read my interviews in the magazines?” He teases.

He grins, “Nah, I just look at the pictures.” He winks before focusing on the task at hand. He pops the memory card out of his camera and slips it into the side of his laptop.

“It just kinda happened,” He says honestly. “I was auditioning for a theater role and Stan found me. Went to a few shoots he set up not expecting much and uh…” He licks his lips, taking a bite of his salad, “I dunno, dumb luck, I guess. One of my photos just made the rounds to other photographers, other magazines.”

“Do you like it?” Sebastian asks suddenly, taking a bite into his sandwich.

Blaine stares at him for a moment, not quite sure what to make of his question. It sounds easy to answer, on the surface, but the more he thinks about it the more complicated it seems. Does he like it?

“Yes,” He says and takes another forkful of salad before sipping on his water. He wants coffee now, suddenly, the heady scent of someone grinding a fresh batch of beans filling the air and his senses. “Sometimes,” Blaine amends after a moment before shaking his head, “It’s a complicated relationship.”

Sebastian smirks a little, licking gravy off his thumb. “What would you rather do instead?”

He starts to squirm a little under the scrutiny, “Can we not talk about me? What about you? Did you always want to be a photographer?”

“Yes, in a way,” He doesn’t seem to mind the topic jump and he appreciates the fact that he doesn’t press him, “I blame my grand-mère who gave me a toy camera when I was seven. It was all downhill from there.”

Blaine smiles a little, leaning his one arm onto the table to uphold his chin as his other stabs at different parts of his lettuce. He allows himself to think about that for a moment: Sebastian, scrawny and gangly for his age, running around a yard somewhere in the summer sun with a toy camera, pretending to take pictures of trees, stray cats and flowers.

He shakes his head and glances down at Sebastian’s plate, licking his lips as he picks up a strawberry and pops it into his mouth. He wants it to taste like the fries that are around the other’s sandwich. He must catch his gaze because he pushes his plate forward,

“Go head.” Even though Blaine crinkles his nose, Sebastian gives him a look. “Come on, one won’t kill you.”

It _is_ just one French fry…and then he resigns to eating five. He mentally makes a note to swim a few extra laps tomorrow. “There goes the tasteful semi-nudes Stan was telling me a magazine wanted.”

Blaine’s not exactly kidding; Stan’s sent him a few inquiry texts before to test the waters, see if he was interested in doing photoshoots that didn’t have much clothing involved. The answer was always a colorful selection of ‘no’.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow before putting down his sandwich, double clicking something on his laptop before turning the screen so they can both see. “Pity. When you’re ready for that, just let me know.”

He smiles a little, trying to ignore the heat crawling underneath his collar and down his neck to his sides, gripping him like two hands and _pulling._ Ridiculous, he’s obviously kidding—and yet there a very miniscule part of him that hopes he isn’t.

“Alright, here’s what I got for today,” It looks to be about fifty photos, all black and white, “Remember whatever you don’t like, we’ll delete.”

Blaine nods softly and leans his elbows onto the table, pushing his salad aside to give the laptop his full attention. He expects not to like most of them, not quite sure how Sebastian’s worked his camera to somehow capture interesting candids of him…

But that’s exactly what he’s done.

There are a few Sebastian says they should get rid of, but it has nothing to do with how Blaine is posed in the photo. It’s usually about the lighting or the background disagreeing with his aesthetics as a photographer but what Blaine’s seeing? He likes them. They’re different and raw and real. The ones with the trees in the background are his favorite, the sharp profile of his face against Bryant Square Park. When he clicks through the ones taken right outside the café, crossing the street, Sebastian mumbles that he wishes he would have had Blaine take the beanie off sooner…but Blaine kinda likes the ones with his beanie in the park. Photoshoots rarely have him wear hats of any kind, so they’re different, new.

It’s just of him living and somehow, they feel more impressive than any other photoshoot he’s been in where he’s wearing thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes. More important than photoshoots that have landed him at red carpet events.

He opens his mouth to say something when something over Sebastian’s shoulder grabs his attention; another pair of eyes trained on him. It’s then he realizes he’s been recognized by two teenage girls that are somehow shy and giggly all at the same time. He leans back in his seat because they’re approaching the table, whispering and grabbing at one another before the blonde of the pair speaks up.

“Are you…are you Blaine Anderson?”

He gives them both a smile and nods softly, “Last time I checked.”

One of them squeals and he’d probably find it endearing if it wasn’t so piercing; he almost laughs at Sebastian’s expression—eyebrows drawn together in distaste with a scrunch of his nose.

“Can I help you?” Blaine asks even though he knows what they’re there for, sometimes it takes a bit of prompting.

“Can we _please_ get a photo with you? I have like…every magazine you’ve ever been in.”

“Of course, yeah, Sebastian can you…” He motions the phone to the other male sitting across from him, who looks slightly annoyed and amused all at the same time. The girls gather around him on either side and he smiles for the photo.

The flash hovers like balloons in his eyesight long after the girls disappear, exclaiming ‘thank you’s’ over and over. He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes his beanie out of his jacket pocket, slipping it back over his head. He pulls the fabric back just enough that a few curls sneak onto his forehead.

“It helps more than you realize.” He says at Sebastian’s look.

He puts his hands up for a moment, not going to argue with him, “Sure, Bruce Wayne and Batman, I get it.”

“Are you calling me a handsome, rich bachelor?” Blaine grins, leaning forward a little to pick up his water and take a sip.

“I didn’t say handsome.” A soft laugh leaves Sebastian’s mouth, “Or I’m just calling you a grown man who likes to run around in a bat costume.”

Blaine tilts the laptop a little more towards him, “Fair enough.” He double clicks on one of the photos before clicking on the arrow key a few times and back again. These are beautiful and while he wants to find one he doesn’t like, he’s having a hard time. “I guess I don’t mind much when I’m alone but…when I’m out with people, it’s a little awkward.”

Sebastian licks his lips, pausing Blaine’s hand by pressing his fingertips to his knuckles. “Let me crop that one.” He says and waits until he pulls his hand back before he gets to work. He watches as Sebastian cuts out a streetlamp to the right that messes with the framing of one of his pictures—it’s instantly a lot better. “You could always tell people no.”

That’s easier said than done; he can’t imagine the crushing look on those girl’s faces if he would have told them that they couldn’t have their photo with them. He supposes it’s all about how someone understands his privacy—and they were very respectful in asking, so why would he say no?

He purses his lips before shrugging one shoulder; he supposes it’s not that big of a deal but a realization seems to dawn on Sebastian’s face at his silence. “Oh, no you can’t, can you? Far too sweet for that.”

“Oh, so now I’m sweet?” Blaine teases and enjoys the gentle warm thrum that seems to make its way through his body every time he’s around Sebastian.

He double clicks on another photo, enlarging it. “How often do you tell people ‘no’?”

He bites down on his lower lip, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Sebastian’s handsome, clearly talented, sharp tongued and too smooth…and yet there’s something about him that digs under his skin in the worst way. How is it that he can _see_ him so clearly, like looking through glass? Sometimes seeing him better than he sees himself.

Blaine chews on words inside his mouth but none of them come out, he doesn’t think Sebastian would believe him even if he said anything—so he doesn’t. He barely believes himself.

“This one’s my favorite.” He draws his attention back to the screen, glancing over the black n white photo of him crossing the street.

Blaine’s looking over his shoulder at cars, beanie off, curls blowing in the wind. His face is relaxed, one lapel of his leather jacket backwards and pressed up against the plaid sweater he has on underneath. The scene itself looks a little chaotic but the contrasting tones are beautiful—it looks like a professional photoshoot, like it’s a planned snapshot, even though he knows it isn’t. That’s how he knows Sebastian is good at what he does; something so effortless looks like it’s taken a lot of time and work.

“So?”

He lets out a slow breath, “All of them are so…good.”

“An air of surprise.” Sebastian laughs a little, shaking his head as he shuts his laptop. “So I’m not deleting any.” It’s not a question and Blaine shakes his head. “I’d say I told you so…”

“But I’d throw leftover French fries at you, so,” He motions to Sebastian’s plate with his chin.

He grins, “Fair enough.”

Blaine watches Sebastian begin to pack up his things, glancing at the time and _wow,_ is it really that late? They’ve spent nearly the entire afternoon together. It’s not like he has anything planned tonight though, not really, but he bites down on the idea of asking him to get dinner with him too. Or doing something stupid like asking him over his place for a glass of wine.

It’s safer if Sebastian doesn’t know exactly where he lives just…just in case. He’s learnt the hard way of inviting the wrong people into his life.

“How do you do it?” Blaine asks, then realizes he needs to clarify, “The photos. Settings on the camera or something?”

Sebastian stands after a moment, looking down at Blaine with an interested expression. He looks outside the window before drawing his eyes back to his hazel ones, “I know you’re looking for something magical, here, but I’m not doing anything special. I just _see_ you.”

Blaine holds his gaze for a long moment before he feels like he has to look away. _Seeing_ him? Peeling his layers back and reading the words printed under his skin—he can understand that; a talent Sebastian seems to hold and hone as his own. But he wants to learn, he wants to see things the way he does, he wants to be able to look at people through the lens of his camera and somehow understand.

“You asked me if I wanted to learn, right?”

Sebastian just smiles.

\--

They decide to go to the Brooklyn Bridge and Sebastian only teases him twice about acting like a tourist but he’s always loved it—it’s one of the reasons he wanted to live in Brooklyn in the first place. He doesn’t care if it’s one of the most photographed spots in New York; this is all just practice and whatever he takes a picture of is bound to be terrible anyways.

He’s kinda nervous to even hold onto Sebastian’s camera, clearly one of his most prized possessions, something he uses to produce his work…God, what if he drops it?

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Blaine says.

“You’ve been holding the camera for ten seconds, relax.” Sebastian takes the lens cover off and slips it into his bag.

“It’s heavier than I thought it would be,” He admits, tilting it a little to get a good look at all the buttons. “Do you use all the settings on here?”

“It’s an older model so it’s a bit heavier than the new stuff.” Sebastian admits, “Older models remind me of my grandparents so I use them when I can, unless I need up to date equipment for a shoot.” He fiddles with a button near the left. “And no, I don’t always use all the settings. Just depends. We’re gonna stick to easy stuff for you today,” He winks.

Blaine scrunches his nose at the gentle teasing, but it’s probably for the best. The only cameras he’s ever used are a no-nonsense point-n-shoot Polaroid and his cell phone. Sebastian taps the top of the camera,

“All you’ll need to do is look through the viewer and go with your gut.”

He snorts out a sound because that sounds _ridiculous._ “My gut?”

Sebastian grins, standing behind him as Blaine holds the camera up to his eye, and he almost jumps out of his skin when the palm of a hand comes down on his side.

“Your gut, it’s instinctive.” He repeats before steadying him. Sebastian reaches around him as he brings the camera down to touch the outside of the camera lens, “Alright, you’ve got two things I want you to fiddle with: focusing ring,” He runs his thumb over it, “And your aperture ring.”

Sebastian takes a step back from him after demonstrating the settings, Blaine almost missing the warmth of his chest pressed along his spine. He takes a deep breath into his lungs and brings the camera up to his eye again. He squints through the viewfinder and angles the top of the Brooklyn Bridge, playing with the focus and aperture like Sebastian’s suggested.

_Click!_

He pulls the camera away, chewing on his lower lip as he turns to look at him. Before he can open his mouth, Sebastian shakes his head, “Don’t worry if you’re doing it right or about taking a bad photo. Just take them, see what speaks to you.”

What speaks to him?

A small mischievous smile tugs at the ends of his mouth as he lifts the camera to his eye again but doesn’t really adjust the settings because he just wants to snap a picture of Sebastian. The taller shakes his head, lifting his hand—

“No, not me.”

“But I thought you said I should take pictures of what speaks to me?” There’s an innocent sing-song to his voice but Sebastian’s not buying it.

“Cheeky,” He gently pushes Blaine’s hands away, “I didn’t mean me.”

A pout juts out his lower lip, “Shame,” He flirts, which just makes Sebastian smile, but he turns the camera away from him and focuses on other aspects of the bridge.

He plays with the focus and aperture a while, trying to see if he’s going to crank out anything good—which he won’t really know until he sees the photos for himself on the laptop but…it’s fun, being on the other side of the camera. Especially when Sebastian’s not looking, because he’s far too handsome to ignore and he manages a few snaps of his profile when he finds him not paying attention.

He wonders if they’ll reveal something to him like Blaine’s photos often do in candid.

Blaine hands the camera back to him, Sebastian putting the lens cap back on before it disappears into his bag. “Want me to walk you home?”

Blaine shakes his head, “I don’t live very far, it’s alright.” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Besides, you gotta make your way back to Manhattan. Will you send me what I took—no deleting anything before I get them?”

Sebastian scrunches his nose at the demands but he nods his head. “Alright, fine. Until next time, yeah?” He winks at him before starting to turn to walk down the bridge to catch an Uber.

He chews on his lower lip; that sensation once again building in his gut like sand slipping through his fingers—

“Dinner?”

Sebastian turns, “Sorry?”

Blush kisses Blaine’s cheeks as he takes a few steps towards him to speak so he’s not shouting, “Sorry, uh, dinner maybe? Tomorrow.”

“With you?”

“With me.” Blaine smiles, “Not a disappointment I hope.”

“Not at all,” Sebastian hums, eyes brushing over him like a paintbrush on canvas, “Should probably have my number for that.” He takes a business card out of his wallet and hands it over, “Cell is in the corner.”

“I’ll try not to Instagram stalk you until then.” He jokes, smiling up at him.

Sebastian begins to walk backwards towards his destination, “I’m afraid I can’t make the same promise.” He says and a fluttering begins in Blaine’s stomach that doesn’t disappear until well after he gets home.

\--

Blaine spends another night in with Raven and a bottle of wine, declining the idea of going to a few bars with Jake and Sam. Maybe he’ll do a night like that with those two knuckleheads before he has to start back on his schedule with Stan. He only has a few more days before another trip takes up most of his time—Los Angeles, he thinks, is the next destination.

He’s tired just thinking about it.

A soft _ping_ signals that he has an unread email and when he opens it up on his phone, he smiles as he sees it’s from Sebastian.

_Didn’t delete any of them even though you snuck some candids in, you creep ;) you’ve got a great eye._

_xx Sebastian_

Blaine thinks about the signature for far too long—are the x’s kisses or hugs? He shakes the thought out of his head and clicks on the link to an online gallery, smiling as he’s face to face with the photos he took that afternoon.

They’re not too bad even though he’s sure Sebastian could do better.

The only ones he saves on his phone are the few candids of Sebastian that he managed to capture, it’s just a few, but he finds them the most captivating. And then he does something he doesn’t expect—

He opens up Instagram and posts one.

He chooses one that’s at an angle, Sebastian leaning on the side of the Brooklyn Bridge, staring out at the water, the city and top of the bridge behind him. Blaine doesn’t put a filter on it, instead messing with the brightness and contrast for a few moments before thinking of a caption. He chews on his lower lip and then types out:

_When the photographer becomes the photographed ;) #nofilter_

Blaine tags Sebastian’s Instagram before he hits ‘post’.

Almost immediately the photo gets a hundred likes, two-hundred, three, and he closes the app before he can get too overwhelmed or stuck reading comments for a half hour. He settles into the back of his couch and picks up his glass of wine, taking a long sip as he stares at the TV, another episode of _Sherlock_ on Netflix queueing up before his phone buzzes with two more notifications.

_SS_photography commented: You’re lucky I photograph so well, Anderson._

_SS_photography has tagged you in a photo._

A soft smile ghosts over his face, setting his wine down to open the app one more time. He taps on the tagged notification and is brought to Sebastian’s Instagram, the candid of him crossing the street now posted on his page.

He scrolls down to the caption: _Does @blainetheanderson know how to cross the street without looking like he’s in a L'oreal commercial? Guess not ;) #candidseries_

Blaine laughs, short and sudden but it’s warm and somehow fills up his entire chest. He shakes his head and chews on his lower lip, eyeing the hashtag Sebastian’s used on the photo. Candid series? He hums a little and types a reply under the photo: _#candidseries implies there’s going to be more of these._

He brings his legs up and sets them on his coffee table, pulling a blanket down from the back of the couch to cover his legs. Blaine reaches for his wine, taking a sip, trying to focus on the episode in front of him instead of waiting for Sebastian’s reply.

But he knows where his attention truly lies, and a few minutes later, Sebastian’s notification pops up on his screen again.

_@blainetheanderson We both know there will be._

Blaine sets his phone down on the couch next to him, his lips resting on the rim of his wine glass every few moments before takes a sip. The rich pinot noir travels heatedly down his throat, reminding him of autumn, the flavors rich and spicy.

He doesn’t need to reply to Sebastian to know that he’s right.

\--

The minute he posts that photo, he settles into the routine of having to turn his Instagram notifications off for a while. He knows how the internet works (mostly because he follows Richard Madden on Instagram and he’s a little bit obsessed with how handsome he is) and the last thing he wants to do is fall into a hole of comment conspiracy theories. Fans will come out of the woodwork to comment on that picture of Sebastian, to try and deduce who he is, ask questions, push buttons—all on his page. All on _Sebastian’s_ page too.

It kinda blows his mind, the time people have to dedicate to conversations like that. He was always a fan of celebrities on social media but he never took the time to theorize in the comments about anything. He considers turning the comment option off on his posts but…there’s really no harm in people commenting if he doesn’t look, right?

That doesn’t stop his friends, Stan, and Cooper from texting him though.

 **Sam** : _Someone in your comments is calling this Seb guy a ‘snack’ btw. This guy’s just your photographer?_ A bunch of eye emojis follow.

 **Jake** : _You didn’t tell us you were dating anyone ): what kind of other photos is he taking of you? ;)_

 **Stan** : _If Sebastian can get you to like photo sessions, we can book with him here on out—let me know about Los Angeles. Don’t make me wait until the end of your vacation for work chats._

 **Cooper** : _Explain. Now._ There’s a screenshot of his Instagram sent with a bunch of exclamation points. _Business or pleasure, squirt?_

He almost, _almost_ replies to at least Cooper to tell him to stop calling him by that ridiculous nickname from his childhood but refuses to take the bait. It’s useless to tell his friends and Cooper that Sebastian is ‘just a photographer’ because 1) no one will believe him and 2) he’s not sure that’s all there is to it. He’s trying not to conclusion jump, to dive in before he’s ready—he’s done that in the past and all he’s ever done is splatter all over the pavement.

His pieces barely fit back together with glue and tape; he doesn’t want to make that mistake again. Yeah, the photoshoots they’ve done together have been really nice, eating in the café with him was enjoyable and they clearly have some unbridled chemistry between them.

But they haven’t been on a real date together yet…so Blaine’s going to see how tonight goes before he allows himself to get too far ahead.

He briefly looks at Sebastian over the rim of his wine glass, but if the last hour and a half is anything to judge by—things are going well so far.

When they couldn’t decide on a place to grab dinner, Sebastian offers to cook at his place. After a few promises of homemade spaghetti sauce, it doesn’t take Blaine very long to accept. As a rule, he usually doesn’t invite anyone back to his apartment but there’s nothing that says he can’t go to someone else’s. Especially when there’s homemade sauce involved.

It’s a typical Manhattan apartment, small but posh, a grayscale coloring scheme with contemporary décor. There’s a lot of glass fixtures and black leather and all he can think about is how it contrasts with his own place in Brooklyn; cherry wood and bright yellows, maroons and topaz. It’s a beautiful place…just not what he pictured when he realized he’d be coming over. It’s almost like some sort of house catalogue, perfect in a bunch of ways but it doesn’t feel lived in. It doesn’t altogether feel like a home.

“You like garlic, right?” Sebastian calls from the kitchen as Blaine wanders into the dining room, smiling at the array of polaroids in a collage on his wall.

“Yes!” He says back over his shoulder, lifting his wine glass to his lips as his eyes flicker over landscape upon landscape.

The polaroid of Blaine and the photoshoot in France sits down near the corner, surrounded by other trees, ponds and greenery. He plays with the corner fondly, likes too much that he’s on this wall and turns when he hears Sebastian approach the doorframe.

He puts a bowl of spaghetti onto the table along with some garlic bread, there’s already a small salad in a wooden bowl waiting next to the butter. He licks his lips, his stomach grumbling a little.

“You whipped that up fast.”

“I’m very talented in a lot of ways,” Sebastian winks before grabbing something just out of his line of sight. “Just wait and see.”

Blaine turns to look at him and raises an eyebrow because, “You didn’t tell me we were exchanging some sort of ‘before dinner gift’.”

Sebastian has a picture frame pressed against his chest, hiding the photograph from him for a moment. “I like catching you by surprise; guilty pleasure.”

He rolls his eyes but finds the action overwhelmed by other feelings as Sebastian turns the frame, pressing it into his hands. He’s met face to face with a photograph that _he_ took of the Brooklyn Bridge from the day he played with Sebastian’s camera.

Blaine blinks, running his thumb over the edge of the photograph because, “You framed this for me?”

Sebastian smiles softly and nods, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Why?”

“It’s your first professional photograph; that kinda stuff needs to be framed.”

Something warm reaches deep into his chest, right into his belly, _squeezing_ and not letting go. The photograph is not the best he’s ever seen, unedited for cropping or brightness and contrast, and yet…the rawness speaks to him. It’s something simple, completely his, the perfect day he had with Sebastian learning how to work his camera forever captured.

“Thank you,” He says genuinely, putting the frame down on the table before sitting. “Really, this…this means a lot.”

Sebastian takes a seat too, unrolling his napkin. “Don’t go hanging it in your bathroom.”

Blaine shakes his head, clamping down on the small flutter that threatens to cause a shiver throughout his body and begins putting some portions on his plate. He takes a few moments, running over what’s just happened in his mind a few times before he remembers some of that shoot is on their Instagram profiles.

“Can I ask you something?”

Sebastian glances up, pausing mid-twirl of his spaghetti. “Sure.”

“Do the…Instagram comments, I’m sure you’ve seen a few of them on your post by now, do they…bother you?”

He considers him for a moment, taking a bite of his spaghetti. Blaine watches him lick sauce off his lower lip. “Do they bother _you?”_ because once again, Sebastian seems to reach the real source of his question.

Blaine looks down at his dinner, “Sometimes.” He admits, putting it out into the universe.

Sebastian hums under his breath, picking up a piece of garlic toast for his plate before Blaine does the same. “They don’t bother me; what people say rarely does.”

He wishes he could be so confident.

It’s relatively quiet as they eat but it’s not uncomfortable, the conversation circling back to their work every so often. Sebastian wants to know his favorite photoshoot that he’s ever been a part of and Blaine wants to know his favorite landscape spots, which Sebastian demonstrates with the few polaroids that are on the wall behind him. They talk about Cooper as an actor and Blaine shows him his few favorite YouTube commercials and tries not to laugh so hard he spits out his wine and Sebastian talks about his sister who’s a doctor that lives in Chicago.

“Wow, so you’re the failure in the family, hmm?” Blaine teases, taking another long sip of his wine.

“Actually, compared to my sister, my parents certainly think so.” He taps his fingers on the table and fuck, Blaine didn’t mean to _step_ into the drama like that.

He leans forward a little and sets his glass down, maybe it’s enough of that, and touches the tips of the other’s fingers with his own, “Shit, I’m sorry. Bad joke.”

“No, it’s alright. You told me you don’t do that very often.” He doesn’t move his hand.

Blaine leans back but keeps his arm still, “I do, it’s just they’re not always funny.” He mumbles, running a hand over his face.

Sebastian smiles and squeezes his fingers before he stands, gathering up some dirty dishes. “I don’t have dessert but how do you feel about coffee?”

“Please,” He smiles back and lets out a long sigh when he disappears into the kitchen.

If anything, Blaine finds himself relating a little bit to Sebastian’s situation with his sibling. It seemed like in high school, Cooper knew exactly what he wanted to do. And while he wasn’t exactly the _best_ actor around, he went for what he wanted and never stopped until he got it. He had a ton of commercials under his belt and even some B side horror movies. Blaine, however, was never quite sure what he wanted. He thought it was acting too, or maybe musicals, he considered being a teacher for a while and then went back to the idea of working in theaters. While his parents wanted him to be happy, they also wanted him to be practical…and being a model was definitely not high on their list of accomplishments.

Not that his parents weren’t proud, they were in a way. They just…wanted him to find something more stable, something he could depend on for job security. Blaine’s saving a lot of money that he makes but it doesn’t answer the question of what he’s going to do when his modeling opportunities are over.

His phone pings in his pocket as he starts smelling the heady scent of coffee brewing and when he digs it out, he eyes the screen before deciding whether he wants to reply to the text or not. It’s Stan. He sighs and looks to the ceiling once before opening the message:

_I know you said no in the past but PLEASE consider tasteful images for Men’s Vogue._

Blaine instantly knows this is a bad idea—when Stan says words like ‘tasteful’ or ‘modest’, it’s usually only about one type of photo: semi-nude. It’s not that he has anything against anyone who does nude photoshoots, he admires people who are confident and strong enough to stand in front of a camera and say, ‘this is my body and I’m not ashamed’.

He just…doesn’t think that’s him.

 _I don’t know, Stan,_ he texts back, standing to gather a few more dishes Sebastian left behind to bring them into the kitchen.

“Oh, thanks, I could have gotten those.” Sebastian rinses the bowls in his sink and slips them into the dishwasher afterwards.

Blaine shakes his head, another ping sounding on his phone, “You made dinner, least I can do is help you clean up.”

“Oh, yeah? If that’s the least, what’s the most you can do?” He grins at him before pulling out two mugs for their coffee, a soft pink kissing Blaine’s cheek as the implication hugs his words.

He takes out his phone again and looks at a message he wishes he hadn’t: _It’s a great opportunity and I don’t want you to regret not doing it. It’ll be good for you. I’m going to tell them yes; we’ll work it out._ He stares at the message until his eyes film over with a patchy fog, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest because _seriously?_ Stan is just going to take this decision away for him because he thinks he knows what’ll work best? What’s better for his career?

His cheeks heat up and he sets his phone down on the counter, not bothering to come up with a reply for Stan. When he looks up at Sebastian, he’s moved, approaching the other side of the counter with his eyebrows raised.

“What?”

Sebastian pours coffee into each of their mugs, “I said, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

How much does he want to hear, really? How much does he even want to tell him? He rubs the back of his neck before putting his elbows down onto the counter, playing with the spoon sticking out of the sugar bowl.

“Stan signed me up for a Men’s Vogue photoshoot.” He pauses a moment. “It’s semi-nude.”

To his credit, Sebastian doesn’t make a face or tease him outright like he thinks he might. Instead, he hums a little and places his coffee mug in front of him. “Thought you didn’t want to do those.”

“He said it’d be good for me.” Like that’s somehow an excuse, like it’s actually an answer.

Sebastian crinkles his nose. “Good for you or good for his wallet?”

Well, when he puts it _that_ way…Blaine shakes his head, “No, Stan isn’t like that.”

There’s something in Sebastian’s eyes that he doesn’t like because he can’t place if it’s pity or empathy. Either way, his gaze digs under his pores and his fingers twitch, hiking up the sleeve of his sweater a little. He knows he’s sometimes a little naïve when it comes to this business that he’s in, but he’s surrounded himself with good people— _Stan_ looks out for him, he always has.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t care about you,” Sebastian adds quickly, “But everyone likes to get paid.”

Blaine feels like he’s underwater, cotton in his ears, the words drowning and slipping past his eardrums, disappearing. His body feels heavy and his fingertips _dig—_

“Blaine!”

Reality snaps back into focus, Sebastian pulling on his one arm and…and when he looks down, he sees blood seeping through the forearm of his dress shirt. He blinks at it for a moment, as if he’s confused on how this has happened even though his one hand has blood and skin underneath his fingernails.

“Jesus, B, why would you…” He trails off a moment, acting instead of speaking, pulling the sleeve back so he can see what they’re dealing with.

Blaine tries to pull away, the realization of what he’s done in front of Sebastian crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He’s already seen too much, he doesn’t want to talk through why he’s accidentally done this to himself.

“It’s…I’m fine.” He says but it doesn’t sound true, even to his own ears, an embarrassed flush working down from his cheeks and settling along the back of his neck.

Sebastian tugs him, won’t let him go, to the kitchen sink. He rolls up his sleeve and turns the water on, touches the tap a few times to make sure it’s lukewarm before pressing his sore and raw skin underneath. Blaine winces, closes his eyes for a moment as a hiss sneaks out between his teeth. The water is soothing, makes him feel a little less numb, his eyes opening after a few moments to look down at the angry, jagged lines on his soft, pink skin.

He didn’t even feel himself go that deep with his fingernails. Fuck, he’d been doing so _well—_

“Didn’t you feel…” He trails off for a moment, thinking of a better way to phrase what he wants to ask. “Why’d you do that?” Sebastian questions softly but there’s no judgement in his voice, just concern, worry, something gentle that breaks open Blaine’s chest like nutcracker.

Something quick and hot, like lava, seeps inside.

“I didn’t mean to, it…it just happens sometimes when I can’t get out of my head.”

Sebastian wants to ask questions, he can see it on his face, but he seems caught between pressing and minding his own business. It’s interesting to see him this way because…the boundaries have been relatively low between them. He doesn’t know too much about the photographer reaching for paper towels in front of him, not really; Sebastian seems like the type where it’s easy to flirt but harder to talk about things that might matter.

He’s trying though, he can see the conflict printed on his face like newspaper—the attempt itself means more than he realizes. Blaine winces when he feels the paper towels press into his forearm, a kneejerk reaction making him want to take a step back.

“Sorry,” Sebastian mumbles, “Let me get some band-aids.”

He really doesn’t want to be fussed over, holding the paper towels in place. “It’s fine, really.”

“ _Really_ ,” He presses, fixing a curl to tuck behind his ear. “Let me get some band-aids.” He looks at him with a soft smile that tugs at the right side of his mouth before giving his attention back to the task at hand. Sebastian crouches down to look under the sink as Blaine takes a step back to lean against the counter, eyes traveling along the long plains of his back.

He stands after a few moments with a first-aid kit in his hands, setting it on the counter next to him and rifling through it for some band-aids and antiseptic. Sebastian licks his lips, concentrating, quietly taking Blaine’s arm into his hand so he can begin cleaning his cuts. They’re not deep, just angry red scratches and he feels a little silly standing there as Sebastian takes care of him but it’s…sort of nice, in a way.

His hands are soft and warm, gentle even though he’s not hesitant. While he might be cautious in asking him too many questions, Sebastian doesn’t touch him like he’s made of glass, like he might just break in half with too much pressure.

They’re quiet for a moment, nothing between them but their shared soft breathing and Sebastian lets out a long sigh out of his nose as he patches him up. “Have you done this before?” It seems like an afterthought, asking that question, and then he realizes what’s come out of his mouth because he backtracks. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

Blaine shakes his head, “Not it’s…it’s fine. A few times.” He never used to compare himself to people or worry about what he had to offer, what he was bringing to the table. He was always the brightest in the room… until he realized he wasn’t.

The inferiority he’d feel, insecurities bubbling under his skin and constantly _itching—_

“It’s gotten better.” He admits, because it has. This incident notwithstanding, he’s come a long way with expected setbacks. It’s nothing he can’t handle. “I’ve never really talked to anyone about it,” Sebastian lets his forearm go once he’s done bandaging him up, throwing the scraps away in the trash. “My brother, Cooper, knows. Stan too—”

“Not your friends?” Sebastian asks, an air of surprise wrapping around his tone.

Blaine runs his fingers along the band-aids for a moment, pulling his shirt down so his sleeve covers it—as if it never happened in the first place, out of sight and out of mind. He knows what that sounds like, not telling his best friends…it’s not about purposely trying to keep it from them.

It’s just that… “I don’t want them to worry.”

Sebastian hums softly, considering what he’s said as he tucks the first-aid box back under the sink. He leans against the opposite counter, crossing his arms over his chest. While it’s a rather defensive pose, his body seems completely open. _He_ seems open; exposed, raw, like how Blaine feels in front of a camera.

“And you told me because you want me to worry?” He teases making Blaine smile, the awkwardness and tension seeming to lift out of the room like balloons.

He shakes his head in response because, no, of course that’s not his intention. Blaine doesn’t know how to tell him that it’s…it’s _easy_ talking to him, telling him things he might not tell others. There’s a layer that’s been stripped away between them, though he’s not sure when it disappeared or how long it’s been missing. They _see_ one another, maybe as honestly as a camera does.

“I do,” Sebastian says after a moment, taking a step to close the gap between them. He reaches out and touches Blaine’s arm, warm pressure on where the bandages are underneath his t-shirt. “Worry.”

Blaine swallows what feels like molasses sliding down his throat because out of everything he expected Sebastian to say, that’s not it. He holds his gaze until it’s almost fuzzy around the rims of his vision.

This is probably a _bad_ idea but…

He hesitates a minute longer than he thought possible and closes the distance between them to kiss him.

It’s quick and soft with dry lips, seeming to surprise them both when Blaine pulls back. Sebastian blinks at him, licking his lips before deciding they need to try again and he can’t agree more. The taller wraps his hand around the back of Blaine’s neck, pulling him closer, their heads tilting to the perfect angle to kiss one another. A surprised noise leaves his throat and empties into Sebastian’s mouth, the kiss deepening as their bodies press together.

His eyes slip closed as he memorizes the sensation, trying his hardest not to think about the last time he kissed someone and if he’s holding up to par with Sebastian’s expectations. _You’re thinking too much, shut up_ and allows himself to slip into the kiss. There’s a mess of teeth and tongue and before he knows it, it’s over because they have to pull back to breathe.

Their shared oxygen is a little rattled, against one another’s lips, Sebastian not removing his hand from the back of Blaine’s neck as everything slowly relaxes. It still feels like his very cells are on fire, nipping at his lower lip just because he can.

“I should,” He swallows, feeling a little dizzy, “I should get going.”

Sebastian hums, moving his hand to cup Blaine’s cheek. He runs his thumb over his jawline and cheekbone, swiping over warm blush. “Or you can drink your coffee and stay.”

He smiles—that doesn’t seem like something he can argue with.

\--

Staying the night was not something Blaine intended on doing, it just sort of happened. Sebastian encouraged him to drink his coffee and settle down on his couch to watch a movie and he falls into place like a lost puzzle piece. It’s like he’s meant to fit there; in his apartment, watching a movie with him, smiling against his mug with shared laughter.

He lets out a long sigh as he walks into his own apartment complex, a yawn threatening to open his mouth wide as he hits the button for the elevator. They stayed up late just…spending time with one another, talking, drinking cups of rapidly cooling coffee as films played in the background. There wasn’t anything other than that and as he thinks back to it, he’s not sure whether to feel disappointed or relief mixed with anticipation about how the night ended. Sebastian insisted he takes the bed before he fell asleep on the couch and Blaine remembers pressing his nose and lips into his pillow and sinking into the mattress like a marshmallow.

He can’t quite keep the smile off his face as he makes his way up to his apartment.

_Blaine wakes up to the smell of bacon and it’s enough to pull him from bed. He stretches his arms up over his head and a soft noise leaves his lips as his back cracks, forcing himself to move towards the smell of breakfast. He rubs the back of his neck, the sight of Sebastian cooking in his kitchen with his shirt off the first thing he sees when he rounds the corner._

_Forget coffee, that’s enough to jump start his entire body. He blinks and tries not to blush—averting his gaze would give too much away about how he’s making him feel even though Sebastian already sees right through him._

_Of course he does._

_“Morning,” He smiles, licking his lips as Blaine moves to sit at the counter. “Sleep well?”_

_Blaine hums in soft response before reaching for Sebastian’s mug to take a sip of his coffee. If he minds, he doesn’t say anything, but he does get him a cup of coffee of his own. He slides the mug across the counter, raising an eyebrow before going back to the task at hand—which is bacon and eggs on the stove._

_It smells delicious. Even when Blaine’s on vacation and has time to cook breakfast in his kitchen, he rarely does it. The meal isn’t his strong suit…he always sets out to make a really good bacon and eggs with toast but it never turns out how he wants it to. Besides, he loves cinnamon rolls and never has them in his fridge._

_“You always cook breakfast with your shirt off?” He adds sugar to his coffee._

_Sebastian smirks, “Only for extra special guests.” He winks, getting plates ready in front of them to pour food onto. “So, what do you have on your agenda for this upcoming month?”_

_Blaine licks his lips and nearly regrets the bacon as he thinks about it but doesn’t stop him from putting food on his plate._ Your body is hungry, listen to it. _“Los Angeles, that Men’s Vogue shoot I was telling you about.”_

_Sebastian pauses as he puts the egg pan down, pushing his plate towards him and handing him a fork. “The shoot you said you didn’t want to do?”_

_He doesn’t respond for a moment, deciding to poke at his eggs instead like that will somehow generate an answer. “Telling Stan ‘no’ is easier said than done.”_

_A crinkle forms between Sebastian’s eyes, leaning his elbows on the table as he picks up a piece of bacon and crunches into it. “How? Just say it.”_

_Instantly Blaine wants to tell him that he doesn’t understand but bites down on his tongue, hard, to prevent the words from making themselves known. Sebastian very much seems like the type of person who’s been able to put his foot down and keep it down throughout many parts of his life. Blaine? Blaine’s a people pleaser, always has been, he has trouble saying no because he doesn’t want to let people down._

_It’s something he’s never been able to shake._

_“It uh,” He clears his throat, “It’ll be alright, something new isn’t always bad…even if it pushes you out of your comfort zone.”_

_Sebastian doesn’t look convinced but he’s not about to ruin their breakfast by pushing buttons. Instead he nods and picks up his fork, his other hand reaching across the counter to gently squish the tuff of hair Blaine has near his forehead. It’s messy from sleeping and he smiles, almost keening into the touch, trying to scrunch his nose like he’s bothered but both know that he’s not._

_“Call me if you need to talk,” he says and his chest fills with a sudden warmth because…he knows it’s about last night, about his scratching, about what Blaine’s shared with him. A little pang against his ribs makes him worry that he’s become some sort of burden, sharing that secret with him—Sebastian might feel_ obligated _to check up on him._

_“Call me even if you don’t,” he adds after a moment and Blaine’s returning smile is infectious._

_“I definitely will.”_

Blaine unlocks his door and presses it open with his foot, nearly having a heart attack at Jake sitting on his couch with his cat. He’s looking at him expectantly, like a parent who’s witnessing their son do the walk of shame the morning after.

“God, you scared me, what are you doing here?” He asks, letting the door close with a soft _thump._ He takes his coat off and hangs it up, toeing off his shoes and approaching his friend. Raven makes a trilling noise upon seeing him, standing up from his spot and stretching before inching towards him.

“Waiting for you, obviously—you’re really just getting home?”

He sighs, his fingers scratching under Raven’s chin as his cat begins to purr. He really doesn’t like his sassy implication—so what if he’s just getting home? It’s not his fault he sat here, what, half the morning? waiting for him to walk through the front door. He’s allowed to have a life and he’s allowed to spend his time with people and…he’s not quite sure why he’s feeling so defensive about this.

His bathroom door opens up down the hall and pillars of steam follow Sam out of the space, his chest bare and a pair of boxer briefs sitting low on his hips. He towels his floppy blonde hair, looking up at him with a sheepish grin.

“Hey, B.”

His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish for a moment. “Were you just using my shower?”

He nods, “Water’s off in my building, figured you wouldn’t mind.” His eyes clock Blaine’s attire before glancing at Jake and back again, “Are you just getting home?”

Blaine’s cheeks heat the slightest shade of pink, “What’s with the inquisition? Geez, I regret giving you two keys.” He plops down on one of his living room chairs, Sam reaching for sweatpants he’s laid on the back of the couch.

He pulls them on and finishes toweling his hair, tossing it aside as he sits down next to Jake. The force in which he lands on the seat cushion causes his cat to nearly fly into the air, a distressed _mrroooww!_ leaving his mouth before he lands on the floor.

Blaine makes a face to which Sam smirks, “Sorry.”

He leans down and scoops Raven up, putting the offended cat onto his lap.

“I can’t believe you left Raven all alone like that,” Sam _tsks_ , though there’s a little bit of teasing hugging his words.

He finds himself rolling his eyes, “Okay, he’s a cat, not a toddler. He’d step all over my dead body for a new can of cat food.”

Jake clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth, “Alright, fair enough. What about this then?” He pushes a magazine that’s sitting on Blaine’s coffee table towards him with his foot. “I feel a little offended that we had to read about your secret relationship in Us Weekly.”

He feels his body go still, a slight shiver traveling down his spine because…this is why they’re over here? He doesn’t want to lean up, already has a good idea of what’s between the pages of the magazine but knows he has to face the music at some point. Blaine’s eyes slip closed for a moment, composing himself, because he should have figured it was too good to be true to enjoy one day to himself out and about. If fans recognized him in the middle of a café easily enough to ask for a photo, then paps were sure to follow him too.

Blaine licks his lips and picks up the magazine; he’s not the full front cover, at least, but he is the right-hand corner. There’s a blurry photo but it’s clearly him and Sebastian at Bryant Square Park, the title **Model Romance! Details and photos inside** in a harsh bold font shade of pink.

He opens it and looks up at his friends, “Come on, you know you can’t read this crap,” He tries, skimming over the article as it stares at him in the face. There are a few far away snapshots of Sebastian taking his beanie off, curling a strand of hair around his ear. The innocent touches misconstrued and intimate in ways that aren’t surprising but disappointing. All for the drama of selling magazines.

_Lights, camera...couple? Recent breakout model Blaine Anderson was seen cozying up with well-known nature photographer Sebastian Smythe yesterday in Bryant Square Park. While the photoshoot in France was snowy and cold, the couple has been heating up with Instagram photo and comment exchanges (page 14) this past week._

He groans, instantly closing the magazine and tossing it aside. A couple? Already? Jesus, they barely shared one kiss—

“Sebastian and I are just friends.” He tries but neither of his friends seem convinced.

Sam raises his eyebrows, “Like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie were just friends or…”

Blaine sighs, running a hand over his face. He should have known this was coming, “I like…spending time with him, yeah and I’m not saying that I’m not into him, I am but…it’s not like that.” He points to the magazine. “Not yet. You know the paps skew shit.” He pauses, thinking about how to phrase this, “His photography feels…it just makes me feel worthwhile.”

Jake nods softly before leaning up on the couch, putting his elbows onto his knees. He lets out a short breath, letting Blaine’s words hover in the air a few moments before he looks to Sam. They seem to have a silent conversation about what to say next and he tries not to feel like he’s about to be a part of some sort of intervention. He kept his friends in the dark, they deserve to ask him questions. He didn’t mean for it to feel so purposeful…he just wanted this small piece to himself while he tried to figure everything out.

He still isn’t quite sure what all this means for him and Sebastian. He knows they feel connected to one another, through art and distinctly through something else but there’s still so much he doesn’t know.

“I guess we’re just confused why you didn’t tell us anything about him. We saw Instagram posts and yeah we gave you shit but like, we just figured you would…” Jake says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Fill us in.” Sam adds and shrugs his one shoulder but Blaine can tell he’s slightly hurt from the accidental secrecy, even though he’s pretending it’s not a big deal.

“You didn’t even tell us about the shoot you had with him in France and usually you’re all over sharing how past jobs went.”

Blaine swallows and nods his head because…they’re right, they’re completely right. There was something about him being exhausted this time, about needing that week off and to himself that he completely bypassed one of the most important things: sharing with his friends as they shared with him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” He says to both of them after a moment. “I wasn’t trying…everything happened so fast. You know I _rarely_ know what the fuck is going on before it comes up and smacks me in the face.”

Sam smirks gently, running a hand through droopy wet hair. “Yeah, suppose that’s true.”

Jake leans further back into the couch, his head pillowing against one of the cushions. A comfortable silence fills the air between them, a shared space of years of friendship wrapping around them like a cocoon.

He lets out a breath that puffs out his cheeks for a moment, “So what _do_ you want?”

Do people seriously know how to answer that? Blaine doesn’t know. What _does_ he want? Is it something so simple as a gathering of words, ordered _just_ right as they leave his mouth? He almost wants to throw the question back at them, force them to respond because _oh, it’s not so easy is it?_ They probably wouldn’t know what to say either.

But Blaine lets out a slow breath and stands, letting Raven jump to the floor before he clasps his hands together. “I want to take a shower and do something fun with you two knuckleheads. Coney Island?” They haven’t been in so long.

Sam visibly brightens at the idea, slicking his hair back with his hand as Jake raises an eyebrow. “Overpriced hotdogs, questionable beaches and rides that get stuck?”

Blaine grins, “Are you saying no?”

The smile must be infectious because Jake is rolling his eyes, a tinge of the same expression tugging at the corners of his face, “Nah, I’m just stating the fucking obvious. Let’s go.”

Sam makes a whooping sound and raises his arms up as he stands from the couch, “Hurry up and shower B, I can’t be held responsible for what I eat from your kitchen while you’re getting ready.” He disappears into the other room, cabinets quickly opening to look inside.

Blaine passes Jake on the way to his bathroom and his friend gently clasps his wrist to stop him. He looks down at him questioningly, his eyebrows drawing together for a moment. “I know you’re not sure what you want and that’s okay but…just know that we care about you. We just worry, you know?” _After Kurt_ hangs somewhere in the air between them like a fog.

He nods softly, letting his wrist slip from the other’s grasp. “I know.”

“Sam and I just don’t want this guy to turn into some sort of jerk. He seems cool, based off of the magazine article and his art n’shit. But we just don’t want him using you so his photography gets more exposure.”

Blaine shakes his head, “He’s not…Sebastian wouldn’t do that.”

Jake stands from the couch and squeezes his shoulder, “Alright,” A crumbling crash comes from the other room and Sam swears before _it’s fine!_ echoes out to them. “I’m going to make sure he doesn’t destroy your kitchen, obviously he can’t be left alone to his own devices.”

A laugh tumbles up his throat, “Thanks, I’ll be quick.”

Making his way to his bathroom, Blaine closes the door and grabs a fresh fluffy towel to set on the back of the toilet. As he’s undressing…he isn’t quite sure why he does it, but when he takes his phone out of his pocket, he opens up Instagram. He licks his lips, Jake’s words tumbling around between his ears as he clicks on one of Sebastian’s photos of him—it has 1,259,721 likes.

A significant boost than the last time he looked at this photo.

He can’t seem to stop himself as he scrolls down to look at some of the comments—

 **kellympeice** : ya’ll they’re cute

 **blaineaaaaanderfan** : i ship it

 **broskijeff** : gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay

 **cutiepatootie75** : #seblaine

 **hypebeast201999** : the pap pictures of @blainetheanderson and @SS_photography are totally fake. Photoshop. Probably put out there by Blaine’s manager for attention. He’s trying to hide his relationship with his blonde friend that has the big mouth.

Blaine instantly turns his screen off, putting his phone aside as he scrunches his nose because…seriously? These people have way too much time on their hands. He strips the rest of his clothes off and steps into the shower after turning the water on, shivering when a cold stream hits his shoulders before the heat equalizes.

He scrubs through his curls, trying to wash a thought away…but it’s not so easy to get it to rinse down the drain. Blaine couldn’t help but notice that Sebastian’s following has increased by 500 people, at least, since the pap pictures and he’s got more likes on current photos of him than on any other of his nature posts.

\--

Blaine swears that going back to work after time off is one of the hardest things. Stan has him on ‘go’ the minute his alarm wakes him up—breakfast and an interview and sitting down to plan out his next few photoshoots. He expects him to bring up the pap photos or another concept shoot with Sebastian but…he does neither, which doesn’t help the paranoia that threatens to curl up in his gut every so often.

He takes a sip of his coffee and looks down at the calendar in his planner, Stan scribbling something out and moving it to another spot. He lets out a slow breath; busy, busy, busy. He eyes the ‘Los Angeles’ square at the end of the month.

He’s still not sure if he wants to do that…

“So you’re not going to ask?”

Stan pauses, putting the cap back on his pen before he turns to look at him. “About?”

Blaine puts his coffee cup on his knee; must they play guessing games like this? “You know what about.”

Stan sits back a little, moving put one of his legs up and under himself so he’s facing Blaine. He watches him for a few moments, tilting his head like he’s picking apart his expression. He taps the pen a few times against the inside of his palm before, “I don’t need to ask because it’s obvious. It’s on your face when you’re thinking about him.”

A soft blush touches his cheeks and he ducks his chin ever so slightly; wants to steel himself against overwhelming sensations but it’s clearly not so easy. There are too many conflicting emotions winding themselves around the bones of his ribcage; how Sebastian makes him feel, what his friends have said, the comments on Instagram, the look in Stan’s eyes about knowing what’s good for him. It’s almost too much; he wishes he could just hit the ‘restart’ button so everything clears out except what _he_ wants.

“I like him,” Blaine says after a moment. _But—_ screams so loudly in the air, never quite leaving his mouth.

“Anyone who can get you to look like _that_ behind a camera is alright with me.” Stan smirks and turns to look back at his calendar. “There’s a local art gallery in Brooklyn that’s looking for models for installation art, I figure that might be up your alley and give you some new material to work with…”

Blaine’s phone buzzes on the table next to him and when he glances over his shoulder he sees Sebastian’s name, his heart doing a ridiculous jump through his windpipe and into his mouth. He swallows thickly but makes no move to pick up his phone.

\--

A week passes by and social media seems to calm down for the most part, pap pictures of him and Sebastian no longer popping up under his ‘suggested’ posts on Instagram. He figures that’ll happen with the messages from him too, just fade into the background, slowly disappear as he continues to not acknowledge him. He goes back and forth, back and forth between this being the right thing or not—on the one hand, making a clean break feels smart because what if his friends are right and Sebastian just wants him for publicity?

But what if, on the other hand, he’s wrong—he’s so _wrong_ and he’s throwing away a good thing just because he’s scared? He hasn’t had a meaningful relationship since his ex and he’s worried he’s rushing into things like he does everything else.

After all, isn’t that how he became a model?

Blaine lets out a soft sigh as he makes his way across the photography warehouse towards his trailer to change his clothes. He has to review some photos with the photographer before he can leave, maybe even select for the magazine; but he doesn’t mind—he likes being asked.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and sees that he has a voicemail message and crinkles his eyebrows together as he taps on the notification to hear it:

_Hey Blaine, I don't know if you remember me but it's Eric from that theater class a year ago? Uh, anyways I hope you don't mind that I called and left a message but I'm working at a theater in Manhattan and they're doing a run through of Kinky Boots and I think you'd be perfect. I remember your voice, it...it gave me chills, you know?_

Blaine feels his cheeks go red, his hand hovering over the door handle to the trailer, a soft smile tugging at the ends of his mouth. It takes him a minute but after hearing some of the message, he remembers Eric too. He was sweet, straightforward and incredibly talented—it’s so nice for him to consider him when they haven’t talked to one another in so long. He clews on his lower lip; _Kinky Boots?_ He’s heard of it, which isn’t hard when you live in a place like New York but still…is Eric sure he’s right for the part? 

_So I still have our recordings from class, running through lines and singing through some numbers, I was hoping you'd be interested in me passing your tapes along? Let me know. Bye._

The message cuts off and Blaine hits ‘save’ so he can listen to it again after he’s given it some proper thought. Even if he wanted to do it, he’s not sure with his busy schedule if he’d have time. He’d _love_ to try though, even if it’s just a set of auditions that he doesn’t make all the way through to get the part. He doesn’t want to pass up on an opportunity that’s literally falling into his lap.

He’ll call Eric back tomorrow, give himself a few hours to mull it over. He just hopes it’s not enough time to talk himself out of it.

Blaine opens his trailer door and sets his phone down, unbuttoning the black dress shirt he has on before he starts to pull it loose from his pants. He’s got a pair of these brown patterned suit pants on and he’s…kind of interested in seeing the photographs because he was standing in front of solid colored backgrounds this time. A blood red maroon, turmeric gold and aquamarine blue.

“Coach, huh?”

He nearly jumps out of his skin as he turns around, hand going to his chest because _Sebastian_ is sitting on the couch on the other end of the trailer…looking far too amused that he’s managed to scare him.

Once his heartbeat stops slamming against his eardrums, he asks: “Sebastian, Jesus, what are you…what are you doing here? How did you know I was here?”

The taller leans forward on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees and it’s…it’s not fair that something so simple is so attractive. He’s got on a button-down shirt underneath his peacoat and a pair of dark jeans to tie it altogether. Unfair and frustrating because Blaine can tell even though he’s a few steps away that he smells good, like cologne and skin.

“Stan,” He replies after a moment, his eyes tracing along Blaine’s front with attentive interest. “Was the kiss that bad you didn’t want to text back?”

Ouch, okay, he totally deserves that. He closes his eyes for a moment and wants to cross his arms over his chest, to hide himself, to shield himself from the way Sebastian is looking at him but he doesn’t move.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been…really busy. It wasn’t about you.” _Lie, lie, lie._

Sebastian doesn’t believe him, he doesn’t _look_ like he believes him and yet—and yet his eyes soften and he nods, shifts on the couch and moves on to another topic. Does he really like him that much? He’s willing to put up with his insecure crap?

“So, Coach?”

Blaine clears his throat and finishes unbuttoning his shirt because he’s got a t-shirt underneath, sliding the fabric off his shoulders and setting it on the back of his chair. “Coach. Big, bright and bold is what they’re going for, I think.”

Sebastian hums, tilting his head a little, “Do you set up any of your shoots or is it all Stan?”

A soft crinkle appears between his eyes before he steps to the side to gather up the clothes he showed up in and moves behind a changing screen. “Uh, it’s usually Stan. He has my calendar and all the contacts, proper channels.” He pauses to take the trousers off, pulling on his jeans and boots and carries his sweater back out to face Sebastian.

Why is he asking about Stan? Does he want to schedule another photography session?

The question must be in his eyes because he shrugs his one shoulder and, “I just wasn’t sure; if Stan told you that I wasn’t good for you if you’d listen.”

Blaine stares at him for a moment, taking longer than it should for him to get it. But when it finally registers, it crashes down onto him like a bucket of ice water. Sebastian’s _angry,_ he’s upset…he’s hurt that he hasn’t been texting him back. That they kissed in his apartment and he never heard from him about it or anything else.

He takes a step forward even though the taller’s body demeanor completely changes—something closed off and cold, his shoulders bunching together like he’s trying to block an icy gust of wind. “Okay, I’m sorry, that’s…that’s what you want to hear? I understand you’re upset but Stan didn’t have anything to do with why I didn’t text you back.”

Sebastian hums, “Couldn’t be too sure, he schedules photoshoots and tells you how to feel about them.”

He feels himself bristle at the implication; he’s _not_ just a fucking mannequin while Stan maps out his calendar. They talk? They figure things out? What’s so wrong with Stan doing his job as his agent?

“That’s not true.” He distantly understands that Sebastian’s trying to hurt him, to dig under his skin and maybe make him feel like he’s made _him_ feel but he’s not going to stoop to his level.

“No?” Sebastian stands from the couch and puts his hands in his pockets. “Then why haven’t you told him that you don’t want to do Los Angeles?”

Blaine feels like an insect that’s wings are being pulled off under a microscope, previous conversations swimming in his head as Sebastian takes a few steps towards him. _How often do you say no? Oh, no you can’t, can you? Far too sweet for that._

He feels his hackles go up because he instantly wants to defend himself against unsaid words hanging in the air—he…he’s said no to things, he _has._

“I want to do Los Angeles,” He presses but it doesn’t sound real even to his own ears. “It’ll be good for my portfolio, something different.”

The taller shakes his head, frustration pinching along his forehead. “You don’t have to be different—you just have to know what you want. And you don’t. There’s something here, between us, it’s new and terrifying and raw, and you’re trying to throw it away because that’s what’s easier.”

The words hurt to hear, gathering at the base of his throat and making it hard for him to swallow. Heat starts to build along the back of his neck and travel lower, blotching his chest as he shakes his head because no, no that’s not true. None of those words come out though, they’re too stuck, Sebastian slipping through his fingers as he reaches to touch one of the curls near his ear.

“Someone took your spark and put it out, didn't they?” He whispers, voice so soft it feels like its caressing his cheek. “Doused it with cold water; wouldn't let you kindle it again.”

Blaine shakes his head and pulls back from his touch, voice shaking as he manages to bite out, “You don't know me.”

“Then why are you so angry?” Sebastian insists, knocking the wind out of his sails.

He walks past him, his shoulder barely brushing his own but it feels like a sucker punch to his gut, hard enough to crumble him into pieces. He shakes his head, running a hand over his face as he hears the door open—

“When you figure out what you really want, you know where to find me.”

And the door echoes closed with a sickening _thud._

\--

The month closes in on him.

Blaine tries to stick to his routine as closely as possible because that’s what helps him feel in control. He doesn’t have time to think and he doesn’t want to, the last thing he wants is for those seconds and minutes and hours to weasel their way into the forefront of his brain.

If he does, if he allows himself to, that would mean Sebastian was right about not knowing what he wants and how that blossoms out to other problems in his life. It’s why he can’t reason with himself about Kurt, about why his relationship ended, that it _must_ be because it was both their faults. It’s why he can’t tell Stan that he’s not too sure about Los Angeles or why he hasn’t told Eric a decision about _Kinky Boots_ (though he did call him and ask for a little more time to think about it, but he’s not going to wait forever).

It’s why he can’t face Sebastian or call him or anything he’d rather do than this because no one’s ever looked at him like that before. His friends and Cooper call him out on his bullshit, voice concerns and listen to him when he really needs it…but Sebastian _sees_ him, really sees him, almost like what a photograph might look like in his mind’s eye before it’s taken.

Before the snapping of a polaroid and shaking it until the image bleeds through.

He rubs his temples as if he has to rewire his thought pattern—

_“Dude, it’s better this way, right?” Jake says to him one night over tacos and cold beer, Sam munching on a hard shell in the background._

_“Yeah, we didn’t know whether to trust him,” Sam picks up cheese that’s falling onto his plate, “Also his hair was perfectly styled in every photo, clearly he’s photoshopping_ that.”

_Jake kicks him in the shin, shaking his head before giving his attention back to Blaine. “I think the point we’re trying to make is, you didn’t really… know him.”_

Blaine runs a hand over his face as Raven jumps up onto the kitchen counter and bumps his nose into his shoulder. He smiles gently at the cat before scratching under his chin and glancing at Stan who is…staring at him because, oh.

“Sorry?”

Stan lets out a small sigh before closing his portfolio that has his calendar in it, “I said, the flight’s booked.”

“Oh, good,” He stands up straighter and reaches for a cup of tea he’s left abandoned maybe ten minutes ago to cool off, probably way past room temperature now. “Did the photographer get back to you yet on the pose intentions?”

His manager stands and grabs his coat, “No, but I can imagine that there won’t be props unless you’re sitting on something. He’ll probably intend on using your body and certain angles to cover your naughty bits.” He smirks and pokes Blaine’s side for good measure, making the shorter squirm a sidestep away from him.

No props— _no props_ to cover parts of himself. He’s seen shoots like that before, mostly female models, bright makeup and exaggerated hairstyles as they sit like glass figurines on stools. Very well positioned so nothing is out of place and completely intimate between them and the photographer—them and the viewer.

He swallows—Blaine’s not ready for that, he’s not sure he wants people to be able to see him completely, no barriers. Nothing to hide behind. It’s one thing to dress in an expensive and immaculate suit, people have so much to stare at other than just him.

But to be stripped completely? Nothing left but skin and scars?

His fingers dig at the soft part of his elbow on his left arm, “Makeup is going to be rather natural too, right?”

Stan doesn’t hear his question, however, because he’s zeroing in on Blaine’s actions. He moves quickly and tugs his wrist back, almost surprising him because…because he didn’t realize that’s what he was doing. He makes a soft noise of protest as Stan tugs the sleeve of his sweater up, _tsking_ gently at the squiggly white scars there, some kissed red and irritated from Blaine’s bothering.

“Makeup will have to cover these up.”

He doesn’t expect for that to feel like such a smack to the face, but it does, something hot and stinging that makes the back of his throat ache. He pulls his sleeve down when Stan lets him go, shame beginning to build like stacking cinderblocks in his chest. He’s known about this as his manager for a long time but he’s never made him feel like _this,_ like it’s…it’s somehow disgusting or dirty or embarrassing to have the scars.

“Why?” Blaine asks after a moment, trying to make his voice sound stronger than he feels. “They’re a part of me.”

“Blaine,” Stan says slowly, as if he’s talking to a child. He picks up the portfolio he’s left on the counter, starting to make his way towards the front door of his apartment. “People don’t…they don’t want to see that.”

 _Why?_ ricochets in his head back and forth, over and over again but doesn’t seem to come out of his mouth. It’s like the room is submerged underwater, time slowing down as the word repeats and echoes in his ears. He’s watching Stan leave, turn his back on him and open the front door and a part of him knows this isn’t a big deal—maybe he’s right? Just cover them up, a little makeup, a little concealer, hide the scars that don’t mean anything.

But they do mean something, they _are_ something. And why should he have to cover those up? Because they’re not as beautiful as the rest of him? Or because they represent a harsh truth that so many want to swipe under the rug, want to forget about, want to pretend doesn’t exist.

Just like photographers want to shape his thighs and trim his tummy on photoshop.

“No.” He says and it sounds final, so much that Stan actually pauses in the door frame and turns to look at him.

“No?” He asks back; one, because he’s confused but two, because Blaine’s never really put his foot down on most. He doesn’t like to make waves, he’s easygoing…but he didn’t realize that would eventually translate into being a pushover, becoming a doormat.

“No,” He repeats, straightening his shoulders, “People will want to know that I’m not special. That I’ve been through something that's hurt.” He swallows, considering his words for a moment and forcing his fingers not to flex up into his palms, to keep his arms still. “That I work through it all the time and they're not alone if they feel the same way.”

There’s a moment of calm patience where Stan watches him, tries to digest his words and think about how to dig out of the hole Blaine’s putting them in. He grabs a shovel, “I’m just…looking out for you, Blaine.”

And yet, when he _says_ that, he feels like it’s the exact opposite. Sebastian’s words ring like sirens against his eardrums—who does Stan _really_ try to protect in these deals with photographers? Because he doesn’t feel like it’s about him. It’s always about that bottom line—otherwise he’d tell the people he worked with that he preferred _not_ to be touched up in photos, that it triggered something painful for him and that it shouldn’t be necessary.

Other than light and contrast or cropping, there was no valid reason to _fix him_ with technology. There’s nothing wrong with him.

“I don’t think it’ll end up being good for you.”

Blaine shakes his head, moving to slip his shoes on at his front door and grabbing another thicker sweater he knows isn’t warm enough but he has to get out of here…even if he’s leaving his own apartment while Stan stands in the doorway. “Then maybe you’re not hearing what I’m saying. I think it will—this is my decision, otherwise I’m not doing it.”

He passes him without another glance, buttoning up the sweater as high as it’ll go. He can hear Stan scoff over his shoulder, “You can’t do that. I’ve already dedicated too many hours to this project. Deals have been set into place!”

“I haven’t signed anything.” He says back, almost reaching the stairs—he’s not about to wait for the elevator.

Blaine’s not looking at Stan, but he can sense his anger like a fire licking the back of his neck. It’s not necessarily about the deal now, it’s about disrespect. It’s about Blaine not rolling over for once when Stan tells him to.

“I’m not reversing all the work I’ve done, Blaine. Not when you’re blatantly being a pain in the ass _brat,”_ he snaps.

He pauses at the door of the stairwell, staring so hard at the paint that his vision blurs a moment. Then he looks right at Stan, “Guess I need a new agent then.”

He pushes the door open and quickly walks down the steps until he reaches the outside of his apartment building. He takes shaky, deep breaths into his lungs, the air too cold and almost choking him. Blaine licks his lips and forces his feet to move, pulling the sweater tighter around his body.

At least his wallet and cellphone are in his jean pockets—he doesn’t have his house keys but he doesn’t intend on going back tonight. He just hopes Stan isn’t a vindictive shit and leaves his apartment door open for his cat to get out. When he gets on the subway, he’ll text Jake just in case and ask him to stop by.

He feels himself go on autopilot as he makes turns and ducks into alleyways, nearly tumbling down the steps when he sees the subway sign that indicates which one he needs to take. His body aches for one place, one person.

Jake was right, he doesn't know Sebastian as well he probably should...but he’s certain about one thing and that’s how he makes him feel.

\--

Blaine stands outside Sebastian’s apartment for a long few moments, staring at the place from across the street. Getting here was easy, it’s the _now_ he’s having trouble with. He hadn’t really thought ahead as to what to do when he was face to face with his place, of having to see him again after their disagreement.

He chews on his lower lip and crosses the street, wondering if he buzzes in if Sebastian will even let him up. Fate, thankfully, seems to be listening because when he approaches the door, a couple is leaving. He sneaks past them and inside, making his way past the elevators to take the stairs—he’s got too much adrenaline pumping through his veins anyways.

 _What if he doesn’t want to talk to me?_ keeps racing through his mind and he does his best to clamp down on that by the time he rounds the corner of the hallway and steps in front of Sebastian’s door.

Blaine lets out a slow breath through his teeth and raises his fist to knock—and pauses midair. He doesn’t knock, he’s stuck. God, this is so ridiculous. Sebastian _wanted_ him to call, was upset when he didn’t, was frustrated on his behalf that he wasn’t sticking up for himself…wouldn’t he want him here?

He can do this; he _needs_ to do this—

As soon as he goes to knock, the door opens, Sebastian almost on his way but pausing when he sees Blaine. A twist of a smile tugs at the ends of his mouth, eyeing his raised fist.

“Were you going to knock or just…stand out here for the night?”

His cheeks kiss pink almost instantly, pulling his hand down and shoving both into his pockets. “Well I didn’t _intend_ on camping out or anything.”

It’s when Sebastian gives him a once over that he realizes he’s trembling, probably from running around New York with two sweaters on instead of a proper coat but he’s also reeling from essentially telling his agent to fuck off. Something he needed to do but…that doesn’t mean it made it any easier. 

“You alright?”

Blaine swallows and just decides on shaking his head instead of going into it, “I don’t want to bother you if you’re heading out.”

Sebastian motions him inside and grabs a blanket from the back of the couch, “Here take this, you look half frozen,” He scrunches his nose before wrapping the thick fabric around Blaine’s shoulders. “And I’m not, just heading downstairs to get takeout that I ordered. Sit, I’ll be right back.”

He quickly makes sure he has his wallet before disappearing out his door, Blaine taking a seat on the couch. He lets out a slow breath and tugs the blanket closer, burying his nose and lips into the material for a few moments to collect himself. It smells like fresh laundry detergent, a pine candle being burned too many times in its presence and hints of Sebastian’s cologne.

The door opens a few minutes later, the taller coming back inside with a brown paper bag. He kicks his shoes off by the door and rounds the couch, perching on the coffee table so he can face Blaine with a soft sigh. Blaine’s eyes wash over the other’s form, the light gray sweatpants with a simple black t-shirt; soft, warm, and he hates how desperately he wants to bury himself against his chest.

He swallows and pulls the blanket down, sniffling softly as he maneuvers a hand free to run through his messy curls. Sebastian lets him sit for a few minutes, to collect his thoughts as he digs his dinner out of the brown paper bag.

“Pad Thai. Want to share?”

“I can’t impose on your dinner—”

Sebastian rolls his eyes but there’s affection there, “Always so polite. You want some or not?”

Blaine smiles gently before nodding and the other stands to grab two bowls and forks, returning to his space on the coffee table. He separates the food and hands Blaine his portion, a deep breath drawing in warm spices and peanut. They eat in silence but that’s okay, there’s nothing uncomfortable about it, enjoying the company they haven’t had with one another in a while.

“You were right,” He says when he’s about halfway done with his food, putting the bowl aside on another table. “About Stan…about a lot of stuff.”

Sebastian sets his fork down in his bowl, chewing but listening. It’s clear that he wants Blaine to say what he’s struggling to get out and while he appreciates the moments to process, it’s also extremely daunting to have the spotlight so plainly on him.

“The photoshoot in Los Angeles, he wanted me to cover up these.” He rolls his sleeves up even though Sebastian’s already seen his scars. It’s more for his own benefit than anyone else’s…to remind himself he made the right call.

Sebastian sighs and licks his lips, putting his bowl down too. “Blaine…” He reaches to touch his wrist, dragging his thumb over the trail of veins there but he continues, doesn’t want to stop now that he knows what he wants to say.

“You said that…someone put out my spark.”

He almost looks guilty, shaking his head a little, thumb pressing into his pulse point. “I was annoyed—”

“No, you were right to say it.” Blaine swallows, eyes glancing down at their skin touching, at Sebastian’s fingers circling his wrist and the back of his hand. “I’m not sure how it happened, if it was a combination of things or…but I had someone for a long time. He wasn’t good for me.”

The words feel like gravel in his mouth, little cuts on his lips and tongue and gums. It’s so hard for him to talk about but he _has_ to. He’s avoided conversations like this with his friends, with Cooper, even though they ask. Even though he knows that they care about him, that they want to help him repair himself even though he’s always so unsure of what’s broken.

“I never saw it; the relationship was very toxic.”

Sebastian hums softly and moves to touch Blaine’s cheek, brushing his thumb over his jawline, almost like he’s admiring a piece of artwork. It takes everything in him not to keen into his touch.

“He was a taker.”

Blaine considers the statement a moment—does Sebastian mean ‘he was a taker instead of a giver’? It’s sometimes hard to look at his past relationship this way, with all the cards on the table. Even now he takes some of the blame himself, maybe when he shouldn’t have to.

“We…took from each other.”

He can tell in an instant that Sebastian doesn’t believe him and lets his hand fall from his face. “I think if you want to heal the scars you can’t see…you have to be honest with yourself.”

_When you figure out what you really want, you know where to find me._

Blaine swallows and nods softly because he’s right, he has to know what he wants…and the first step is being honest with himself.

He may have loved Kurt but that doesn’t mean the relationship was perfect, it doesn’t mean that love can _save_ anything. They loved one another but the time they spent together was damaged, incomplete and took pieces of Blaine that he didn’t realize he’d miss.

He had no idea that Sebastian would be giving those pieces back to him.

“I do want to be honest with myself,” Blaine says suddenly, capturing the other’s attention. “I don’t want to model anymore.”

Sebastian nods, a soft smile on his face and before he can open his mouth to say anything, Blaine speaks again quickly before he loses his nerve.

“And I want you.”

He stares at him for a long moment, like he’s trying to peel Blaine’s skin back and read the words he’s not saying. He pulls the blanket aside and inches closer, almost sliding between his legs and Blaine keeps his gaze—won’t look away.

“Say it again.”

The words are simple and yet it causes a shiver to go directly down his spine, heat spilling into his belly and _pulling._ Blaine swallows, sitting up off the couch a little, bringing their bodies closer until their nearly sharing the same air.

He’s missed their intimacy that appears just from conversation but seems to triple with skin to skin contact.

“I want you.” Blaine whispers, his breath brushing over his lips.

Not another moment passes before Sebastian crashes their mouths together, a heated tousle of tongue and teeth and not enough oxygen. They pull apart, the taller stands and picks Blaine up into his arms, the kiss slower this time, drawn out, nothing left to be desired.

Blaine wraps his arms around his shoulders as Sebastian carries him out of the living room, his hands raking through the other’s short hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss further even though it feels impossible to do so.

They’re smiling into the kiss as Sebastian enters his bedroom and closes the door haphazardly with his foot.

\--

They have sex with the lights on—which shouldn’t be such a big deal, except that it is for Blaine. He’s so used to hiding, to it being dark so that someone doesn’t have to see the smallest swell of his stomach, or slight pudge of his upper thighs, or the tiny white lines of his scars.

Sebastian sees every part of him and kisses any place he can reach.

He doesn’t want to hide anymore.

\--

Morning seems to come far too soon and there’s an aching completeness that somehow fills up Blaine’s entire body. He lets out a soft sigh and rolls onto his back, stretching his arms over his head until bones pop. He yawns, running a few fingers through messy curls before sitting up, his arm touching the pillow next to him.

He wants to get up and yet, at the same time, he wants to bask in how he feels: sated, warm and comfortable. He feels like he _fits_ inside his skin, no apologies, the truest version of himself for once on the outside. Blaine smiles softly and glances towards the bedroom door, the smell of breakfast wafting towards his nose.

Tearing the blanket off, he makes his way to the kitchen after pulling on his boxer briefs and one of the sweaters he showed up in last night. Blaine pulls the sleeves down over his hands, rubbing one of his eyes as his feet pad the carpet until Sebastian comes into full view. He’s flipping a pancake in the air, a little haphazardly, and swears as it almost lands on the floor but manages to catch it in the pan.

“Close call.” He smiles softly, voice still streaked with sleep as he sits on one of the stools at the island counter.

Sebastian smirks, putting the pan back on the stove. “I was distracted by the sight of you,” His eyes travel over his body. “Downright sinful looking so handsome right out of bed.”

Blaine gives a soft eyeroll but his cheeks pink up, “Stop.”

The taller smiles and turns to tend to the pancakes, taking a few pancakes out of the pan and putting them onto a plate of finished ones before setting it in front of Blaine. He then pours him a cup of coffee, turning the stove off and rounding the island counter.

“Sleep well?”

He licks his lips before giving a soft nod, “Wish you would have been there when I woke up though.”

Sebastian hums, playing with a curl behind his ear before cupping his jawline, absently tracing with his thumb. “We can’t have morning blowjobs _and_ pancakes at the same time.”

Blaine raises a playful eyebrow, tearing a piece of pancake off to pop into his mouth. “We can’t?”

“Cheeky,” He smirks before pressing his thumb to his lower lip, pulling away. Sebastian takes a seat at another island chair next to him, putting a few pancakes onto his plate. “Last night you mentioned wanting to do something other than modeling?”

“Yeah, I…a friend called and left a voicemail about this musical opportunity and that’s,” Blaine pauses a moment, putting some pancakes on his own plate. “That’s what I started out in you know; coming to New York to be a part of musical theater.”

Sebastian grins, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Blaine’s lips just because he can—he tastes buttery sweet, like syrup, “Handsome, great in bed _and_ he can sing? Why am I not surprised?”

He lets out a soft laugh, batting him away even though he’s enjoying the attention, “It’d be a really great opportunity, I just…I don’t know.”

“Do you want it?” Sebastian turns in his seat a little to face him, resting his fork on his plate.

“Yes,” Blaine says instantly, because he does. He _really_ does and that’s somehow clearer than it ever has been. “But he called and left the message a while ago…it might be too late.”

“It might not be.” He presses, “You won’t know until you call him back.”

He hums softly, chewing over his words in his mind. Blaine attempts to steal a pancake off of his plate but the taller makes a noise of protest, grabbing his hand to stop him. Sebastian presses kisses to his knuckles, a gentle eyeroll that has more of a smile than anything else as they continue to eat their breakfast.

\--

He calls Eric back after they finish cleaning up the kitchen, both settled on the couch in the living room. Blaine has his legs stretched out over his lap, Sebastian’s hands brushing up and down his thigh in a calming, comforting manner.

Luckily Eric picks up on the third ring—

“Hey Eric! Yeah, it’s Blaine,” He smiles instantly at the enthusiasm he’s met with, ducking his chin a little as his friend goes into the past, what he’s been up to recently and openly admiring the photoshoots he’s seen in magazines, “I know it’s been a while. Thank you.” He chews on his lower lip. “Really wasn’t…that big of a deal.”

He glances up at Sebastian who fixes him with a look that tells him to take pride in the things he’s done but he gives him a soft shrug before leaning back, head cushioned by the arm of the couch. The taller squeezes his knee every so often as Blaine absently plays with a frayed part of his sweater.

“Listen, I know I’m calling you back super late and I completely understand if I missed my shot. But I was wondering if that Kinky Boots audition was still available…”

\--

Jake blinks at Blaine, letting out a slow sigh before scratching the top of Raven’s head on his lap. “So wait, let me get this straight. You’re…not modeling anymore,” He begins to count on his fingers, Blaine giving him a soft nod so he continues, “told Stan to fuck off,”

He bites his lower lip a little sheepishly, “It wasn’t in those _exact_ words—”

“ _And_ you’re doin’ Kinky Boots?”

Blaine opens his mouth to reply when Sam shifts on the couch to grab another slice of pizza. “Dude, you shouldn’t have to resort to bein’ a stripper. I feel like that’s a little drastic.”

He smiles, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his hair; he supposes this is what he gets for barely giving his friends any context.

“No,” Blaine laughs, grabbing another slice for himself too. “Kinky Boots is about drag queens, by the way, not strippers—” Sam’s eyes instantly widen, to which he adds quickly, “It’s a _musical,_ guys. I’d be in a musical.” He looks over at Jake, “And I didn’t spell out to Stan to ‘fuck off’ but I’m definitely not working with him anymore.”

His friend’s shoulders visibly relax, “Good, he was a prick.”

He hums softly at the response, pausing to take a bite out of his crust in thought. He wonders why Sam and Jake weren’t more vocal about how they felt when it came to Stan but he doesn’t hold it against them. It took a lot for Blaine to really _listen_ to what was being said to him anyways.

He had it all twisted; who cared and who didn’t, who really saw him versus who saw what they wanted to see.

He’s not saying that Sebastian was the only one to get through to him, that he hadn’t heard what his friends were trying to tell him or that it wasn’t important. That how _he_ felt wasn’t important all along…but sometimes it takes just right the person saying just the right things someone needs to hear at just the right time.

Point is, he gets it now, loud and clear.

“I mean, I know he did a lot for you but,” Sam shrugs.

“ _I_ did a lot for me,” Blaine says suddenly, making Jake raise his eyebrows. “I’m not saying Stan didn’t get the ball rolling but…it was my body, my interviews, my events. Me.”

“Look at who’s standing up for himself,” Jake teases gently, leaning up to playfully squeeze Blaine’s arm. He huffs and shrugs him off but he’s smiling because he can sense a difference too.

“This newfound confidence from somethin’ specifically?”

They know the answer to that, Blaine knows this, and yet it takes him a few moments to say his name out loud. They’ve been wary of Sebastian in the past and he doesn’t hold it against them, they were just being good friends.

“I know you guys don’t think I really know him but…”

Jake’s shaking his head in his peripheral, making him pause. His friend leans up off the couch and takes another sip of his beer, “Nah listen, we were wrong.”

Blaine grins, “Oh you were _wrong,_ were you?”

The other rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, it doesn’t happen often, alright?” At the same time Sam snorts and says, “I’m never wrong, just mistakin’.” And Blaine laughs from the sudden warmth of how it feels to be around these two.

“We don’t know him,” Jake amends, motioning between him and Sam, “But _you_ do…and that’s what matters.”

Sam nods, putting his plate down on the table and licking his lips. “This is all very touching.”

Blaine lets out a noise of agreement and when Jake stands from the couch, he stands too and wraps his arms around him to tackle him back into it. Jake lets out the most ridiculous _squawk_ he’s ever hurt and he can’t help but laugh, feeling Sam dog pile on top of him.

“You both weigh a fucking _ton,_ get off.” But he’s laughing, patting Blaine’s back and Sam’s side.

“That’s because we ate like two and a half pizza boxes, dude.”

And while Blaine’s at a weird angle and pretty uncomfortable, there’s no place he’d rather be.

\--

Blaine can hear the swell of music for ‘Soul of a Man’ beginning to play and lets out another slow breath. These are the second rounds of auditions and he’s there amongst three others, even though Eric’s told him that he practically has it in the bag. He’s worried a few times that the judges are just going to give him something he hasn’t earned because he’s technically a ‘celebrity’ even though he’s quit the modeling business. And wasn’t _that_ a scandal he’s had to read about in every variety magazine that he’s passed in the check-out aisle at Whole Foods.

He’s managed to give some interviews about breaking clean with Stan, that they had ‘creative differences’ and that they both just want to move on in their respective directions. Some companies have reached out to him personally, letting him know that they’d love to work with him any time he wishes, an agent or not.

Blaine appreciates the phone calls and emails, really he does, and he supposes he should never say never but…’flavor of the month’. He figures that kinda stuff will stop sometime soon too. Regardless, getting this role based off anything other than his talent on stage is something he’s really concerned about but Eric’s assured him that he’s here for his voice and voice alone.

The judges want to see what he can do, the vocal range he’s capable of, if he can relate to the character of Charlie and do a few scenes.

 _That’s_ what matters…and despite how he’s told himself he can do this, he _really_ wants it so his nerves are completely out of control.

His gaze snaps to Sebastian as he feels his hand on his knee, giving him a gentle squeeze. A small tug to the corners of his mouth into a smile tells Blaine he was jackhammering his leg again.

“I think you’re gonna shake that other person off the stage.”

He feels his cheeks tint pink, “Sorry.” And rests his hand over Sebastian’s, running his thumb over his knuckles in a soothing manner for himself.

The taller wraps his other arm around Blaine’s shoulders, drawing him closer, his lips brushing his temple gently. “I get being nervous but you got this.”

Blaine lets out a slow breath, his eyes slipping closed for a moment to ground himself in Sebastian’s touch alone. Yeah, he’s sure he’s right—he’s got this, but he has to admit that he hasn’t felt this nervous about something in a long time.

It’s probably because he hasn’t _wanted_ something this badly in a long time.

“I appreciate the support…but let’s keep in mind that you’ve only ever heard me sing in the shower.”

He smirks, a short burst of air against his curls. “And impromptu performances in the kitchen when you’re baking and think no one’s paying attention.”

Blaine’s cheeks kiss pink as he pulls back to look at his boyfriend, _boyfriend—_ the word warm and supportive like the other’s arm around him, “Those don’t count.”

Sebastian’s about to disagree otherwise, his mouth opening slightly to object when a stage hand appears out from around a curtain with a clipboard, “Blaine Anderson?” He turns at the sound of his name with a small smile, “You’re up next. Probably another five minutes?”

His stomach does a somersault but he manages a soft nod as she disappears onto the stage as the song comes to an end. Blaine bites down on the end of his tongue, his mind swirling with a mixture of commentary that somehow fills him with support and dread all at the same time.

“My friends are in the theater, they snuck in right before auditions started,” Blaine says suddenly, “When this is over I want you to meet them.”

The taller hums, fingers tracing absently over his knuckles, “Chip n’ Dale in the back?”

A sudden laugh bursts free from his chest. He knows Sebastian doesn’t want him to take that the wrong way—from how he’s described them to him, that’s…nearly a perfect representation. Despite being warm and honest, always making him laugh, sometimes they act just as silly and distracted as the cartoon chipmunks.

“Yeah exactly,” Blaine chews on his lower lip, “Them.” Sebastian says something else, begins talking about Jake and Sam and the audition and he turns suddenly and interrupts even though he doesn’t mean to, “Tell me again that I can do this.”

He pauses, his eyes tracing over Blaine’s form with an amused fondness that reaches deep into his belly. Sebastian sighs and moves his arm out from around his shoulder to cup the other’s cheek, “You don’t need me to tell you that,” He supports gently, “But you _can_ do this.”

His other thumb runs along the inside of Blaine’s palm, skittering up and over the crescent moon scars on his forearm. He's never hesitant or afraid to touch him there. People have noticed and avoided looking at them for long periods of time. Cooper, even his friends have been guilty of that—like they're afraid they might open up something buried deep inside of him, something that caused his fingers to dig and scratch and gnaw at the skin so consistently.

Blaine smiles, warm and earnest before leaning down to steal a soft kiss. “Thank you.” He whispers, lips still pressed against Sebastian’s.

His boyfriend smiles easily, nipping after his lower lip to make him laugh and they pull apart after a gentle nose nuzzle. The stagehand appears around the curtain again, signaling him with a clipboard.

With one more squeeze from Sebastian, he stands and takes a deep breath before walking out on stage.

\--

Sam puts his beer glass down on the small high top table a little haphazardly, foam washing over the rim. “Another round of shots!”

Blaine laughs, leaning back into Sebastian’s chest as they stand near Jake seated on a stool. “No, God, no more.”

“Aw come on, B.” Jake grins and elbows him playfully, “We’re celebrating!”

“It’s not every day that you get to become a drag queen.” Sam’s eyes are tinted with mischief thanks to the alcohol and Blaine doesn’t have the heart to tell him that Charlie Price _technically_ doesn’t become a drag queen, though, he does get to wear those amazing high heeled boots towards the end of the musical.

Sebastian smirks gently against his neck, breath hot and lips along his pulse point, watching as his two friends stumble to the bar for more drinks. “I think they like me.” He says after a moment.

“They like anything right now,” Blaine teases and turns in his embrace to look up at him. Sebastian’s arms rest low on his body, hands teasing the waistband of his jeans, squeezing his sides gently.

He huffs out a small, offended sound but instead of saying anything he leans into a kiss, steals one from his lips and brushes his nose against his cheek after. There’s a flash of light in the corner of his eye and when Blaine turns to look, there’s someone with a camera taking their picture. It’s clearly a pap, trying to hide his camera even though he’s been spotted already.

Sebastian stands a little straighter, his thumb rubbing along his hipbone in a protective manner. “I’ll go tell him to fuck off.”

“No, it’s okay,” Blaine says quickly, shaking his head. He knew that despite breaking ties with Stan and the modeling industry that it’d take some time for the ‘flavor of the month’ brand to disappear from his skin.

Magazines are still interested in where he is, what and who he’s doing, the clothes that he’s wearing.

The difference now?

The spotlight doesn’t bother him because he finally feels _comfortable_ in his own skin; he doesn’t have to pretend to be anyone that he’s not. He’s not paranoid about what the tabloids might say or how his fans might see him.

He can just be himself.

“He’s not bothering me.” Blaine assures him as Sam and Jake come back to the table with too many drinks for the small surface.

“Jesus, did you two clean the bar out?” Sebastian shakes his head, grabbing a shot to bring up to his lips.

Blaine’s eyes are still on the pap, who’s taking out his camera again to focus it on him. It’s in that moment he gets an idea, turning to his friends and boyfriend with a soft smile.

“Come on, we might as well pose.” He motions to the camera across the bar and Jake grins, handing Sam a beer while Sebastian tugs Blaine closer into his chest. He can feel his gaze settling on him like a warm blanket; he’s proud, affectionate, a butterfly kiss fluttering against his jawline before Sam hops up on the bar stool, leaning close to the couple.

And they all turn to smile for the camera.


End file.
